Sword Of The Witcher
by Illusive Writings
Summary: Entry for the Summer 2015 Ficathon. Richard Castle is a Witcher, a monster slayer for hire, that occasionally writes books. He's hired by a young woman to look for the monster that killed her mother. A job that seems easy enough becomes a walk through hell and back. Rated M for sex, violence, gore and... everything. Set in The Witcher universe. Low fantasy AU. Very low fantasy.
1. End Of The Hunt

**PSA:** It's gonna be dark. Gritty. Twisty. Violence and gore will abound. Castle will become the ultimate white-haired badass with two freaking swords hacking limbs off vampires, werewolves, strigas (basically demons that possess young girls and turn them in bloodthirsty monsters at night but leaves them normal, only slightly nymphomaniac and sarcastic, at day), nekkers (short, stubby creatures that live in grassy areas near water, with sharp, poisonous fangs and a taste for human flesh) and giant spiders (that's kind of self explanatory) and many more I'll describe later. A world so dark that Game Of Thrones will look like it has a neatly polished setting where everyone is happy and no one dies. Ever.

The world of The Witcher is extremely dark. It's low fantasy. Like, ground level fantasy, better underground fantasy. Don't expect Lord Of The Rings type of fantasy. Violence, gore, blood spurts, gratuitous sex, mentions of rape… all trigger warning you can possibly conceive apply to this story. If you're easily triggered by any of these subjects, stay away from this.

I own nothing of course. All rights go to Andrew Marlowe and Andrzej Sapkowski and CD Projekt RED.

Also: happy Ficathon everyone!

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 **Chapter 1 - End Of The Hunt**

Monster slayers, most of the time.

A necessary evil, sometimes.

Freaks of nature, at worst.

Witchers were rarely called by their names.

A profession that required intense training, extreme sacrifices and gave little to no satisfaction should be heeded as noble and respectable, in an ideal world. But reality was much harsher than some utopian dream born out of desperation.

In a world where magic created rifts between worlds and caused all types of monsters and spirits to cross the lines between different dimensions and take residence in their lands, Witchers were necessary.

Highly trained swords for hire, they succeeded where even the most skilled soldier was doomed to fail. Taken in as children, they spent a lifetime undergoing physical conditioning and alchemical processes, building resistance to poisons and diseases and the assumptions of mutagenic agents rendered them killing machines. Through the years, their skills with the blades was nurtured day by day and their agility and cunning became unmatched, even the greatest acrobat couldn't be as fast as they were with their blades.

Magic was taught to them. Nothing in comparison to what magicians and sorceresses could achieve, but they knew the basics. The Signs, the most fundamental form of magic, allowed them to get the higher ground during their fights with monsters sometimes three times bigger than them. They needed all the advantages they could.

They made a living by travelling all around the world and looking for monsters to slay or ghosts to eradicate. A bit sellsword, a bit priest, a bit ruthless warrior, Witchers were respected, but most of the time they were feared. People were terrorized, as most of the commoners felt they were closer to the monsters they hunted than human, because of the tremendously horrific process they underwent to become what they were.

Having a Witcher in town often meant that something was very wrong. Everyone was in danger if they needed a Witcher to do something. Ghosts and spirits were just as dangerous as a Nekker or an Endrega, as they could possess people and force them to do the unspeakable.

Therefore, most of the time, Witchers were just vagabonds trying to make ends meet and find a roof for the night. Usually, as soon as their job was done, they were shoved away on the road again. If they were allowed to stay, they rarely had people around them. Respectable townsfolk tended not to meddle in Witcher's affairs until a Drowner appeared in the their yard, crawling out of the river to seek fresh blood to feed on.

Hypocrites.

Richard Castle, of the School Of The Wolf, couldn't help but snicker at the thought as he walked down a path invaded by weed. At least he was far away from water, so no archespores could pop up and shoot him with their toxins.

The mayor of the village that had hired him had shoved a bag of coins at him while he was drinking a pint of ale in the tavern and pushed him out of the village borders, basically ordering him to track down a succubus that was haunting an abandoned manor deep in the forest.

Six days before.

If only the fat idiot had pointed out in which direction he had to go… He was starting to wonder if the man had just paid him to get out of his town so people wouldn't become scared and paranoid when they saw him in their tavern.

Damn the glowing eyes and the white hair that made Witchers so easily recognizable.

The sun was quickly setting behind him as he walked eastward in one last attempt to find this manor. He had been walking in circles for the past few days and he was getting restless to find this place and get it rid of its unwanted visitor. After all he had been paid a decent sum of money; there was no reason to deny the man a job well done. He had also promised another wealthy sum of money if he returned with proof he had slain the succubus.

He had almost lost all his hope when the wolf head medallion hanging from his neck vibrated. A barely there movement, but he felt it strong against his sweaty skin. Something not of that world was around.

He flexed his fingers, already itching for his silver blade, when he suddenly stepped into a large clearing. In front of him, in the shades projected by the thick fronds of the oaks around him, the famous haunted manor he had been instructed to liberate.

Problem was: it wasn't abandoned. It was a fully illuminated, richly decorated manor full of life and people bustling in the last lights of the early spring day. It looked pretty normal to him, but his medallion still vibrated, so he decided to investigate further.

There was something fishy in that situation, that was sure. And it wasn't the basket of freshly gutted herrings that a maid was carrying as she walked up the neat track that went up to the back of the house from a larger road that went straight into the woods, on the other side of the clearing. He had arrived from the wrong side apparently.

Slowly, not to startle anyone as the hurried to finish their daily chores, he moved up towards the house. Though he was sure that, after six days spent in the thick of the forest, he was a ghastly sight to behold at such a late hour, the first person that noticed him greeted him with a broad smile.

He was probably shortsighted, thought Castle.

"Greetings traveler. May I help you?"

The man, a short, stubby farmer, holding a large sheaf of hay in his hands as he loaded it on a carriage, looked incredibly friendly for someone who was talking to a Witcher.

"Yes… ah… I'm sorry, I think I'm lost. You see I'm…"

"A stranded traveler, of course… come my friend. The Lady of the House will be pleased to have such an honorable guest for the night."

With a large hand on his shoulder, careful not to touch the sheaths of his swords, the farmer led Castle to the back door. The man was friendly, too friendly. Something was wrong indeed, but he still had no idea what it was. He decided to play along and see where the events led him. He was pretty sure he was in the right place; he just had to understand what was going on.

When he stepped in the kitchen, he was nearly knocked down by the wonderful scents hanging in the air, from the freshly picked herbs hanged to dry near the fireplace to the thick stew that was being cooked in a deep kettle on the nearby stove. And baked potatoes. Castle found himself salivating as the kitchen personnel, young women all feverishly working, politely greeted him.

He heard one giggle as she realized that she had just met a Witcher. He sighed. People like him, as rare as they were, were famous not only because they were excellent monster slayers, but also for their prowess in bed. The alchemical and mutagenic process they went through made them sterile, so they were the perfect partner for those women, and sometimes men, that wanted to have some fun without facing consequences. Also, being basically immune to common diseases and extremely resistant to poisons and toxins, being… not so appropriate with a Witcher had no chances of leading to infectious diseases or anything like that. Giggles from young women were common when a Witcher was around.

As much as angry fathers and husband preemptively shutting daughters and wives away.

The farmer greeted a maiden and left him in her hands, then went away back to his work.

"Come with me sir," she said, leading him deeper in the house. "Our Lady always welcomes stranded travelers like you. I'll give you something to get yourself presentable for dinner."

"How kind of your Lady…" he replied, looking around. The house was opulent, but not tacky. There was a display of wealth, with rich tapestry and antique furniture, but nothing too extreme. The owners had good taste, and the servants kept everything clean and neat.

And yet, they were too friendly. Most of the people didn't like to have Witchers around, and yet they had welcomed and offered him a lush room, supplies to get cleaned up, and apparently dinner with the mistress of the house. It seemed like they didn't even know what a Witcher was.

Now not only the continuous vibration of his medallion kept him alert, but also his instincts. There was something very, very wrong in this place.

Maybe he hadn't wasted those six days wandering for a scared man's whim. It might not be a succubus, as they tended to live alone in more secluded places than this, but there was something otherworldly in this manor.

"Yes, she is a kind woman. Treats us right. Come please."

The maid led him upstairs to what looked like a guest chamber. "You can rest here. I'll bring towels, water and soap so you can clean yourself. Do you have a clean shirt?"

Castle nodded and took the small backpack off his shoulders. "I have clean clothes, though I wouldn't mind if someone could at least wash this shirt for me."

The girl nodded. "It will be done. I'll be back shortly."

The moment she closed the door behind her, Castle went into hound mode. He dropped both the backpack and the swords to the floor and, taking a silver-lined dagger from his boot before he started looking around, this time not admiring the tapestries or the engraved four poster bed. He was searching for traces of anything abnormal.

He found plenty just with a quick look around.

The maids were thorough when they cleaned, but bloodstains were tough to wash away. And there was a nice smudge just beside the bedside table. And traces of someone bleeding being dragged towards the door were still pretty fresh.

This wasn't the work of a succubus. Succubae sucked the energy of their victims while they had sex, and usually left them tired, sated, in love with a hellish creature for a while, but alive. There was never blood involved. And here there was a lot of blood.

Vampire. There was a vampire involved here.

Or worse…

The perspective didn't exactly look great, he had to admit it.

"Fuck…" he murmured, sheathing his dagger when he heard the maid approaching the door. When she opened the door, balancing a small pile of towels on an arm and holding a steaming jug, he was casually looking out of the window. There was still activity down in the courtyard, though the sun had already set and the little light came only from torches and the windows. In the yellow glow, he could see the kind farmer still loading hay on his carriage.

Weird didn't even start describing the whole situation.

The young girl left the supplies on a table near the door. "Dinner will be served in the main dining hall in an hour. Lady Kandell is eager to meet you, sir. If you need anything, don't refrain from pulling that rope and an alarm will ring downstairs. I'll be happy to procure anything you'll ask. Leave the dirty clothes on this chair, I'll take care they're washed and hung out to dry during dinner."

With that she left him alone once again.

"Well, if the Lady wants to dine with me…" he mumbled, unbuckling the strap that held the sheaths of his swords on his back to lay them beside the bed. If he had to have dinner with a noblewoman, he'd better be presentable. Also, he wasn't one to forgo the possibility of getting the grime off himself, and have his clothes washed and ironed, for once.

He used the bar of soap and the hot water wash away most of the dirt of six days spent roaming in a thick oak forest, pieces of grass and foliage too. On a richly engraved dresser nearby rested a set of toiletries. He used the comb to attempt at taming his unruly hair. As he tried to comb through the thick white locks, he decided he definitely needed a haircut. In the past few months his hair had grown past his shoulders, and keeping them clean and in order had become impossible, considering the roaming life he lived. As he looked at his reflection in the full figure mirror, while buttoning his crispy white shirt, he decided he'd get an haircut the same moment he'd set foot in Vizima.

Once he thought he was presentable enough, he tucked the silver-bladed dagger in his boot. He couldn't go down to dinner with his swords, but the dagger could easily be hidden. If there was a vampire involved in all those strange happenings, he would never go anywhere unarmed.

Someone knocked on the door. When Castle opened it, he found a tall and pale butler waiting for him. The man silently guided him to the dining hall; it was a lushly furnished room with a long rectangular table already prepared, thick red brocade tapestry on the walls. A large fireplace and an insane amount of beeswax candles gave the room a dark orange hue that made it almost hard to see. He was lucky the mutagenic agents he had consumed in his youth for the Trial Of The Grasses, one of the steps to become a Witcher, had made it possible for him to see even with such an unfavorable light.

The suspect that there was a vampire involved was becoming more and more a certainty each time he looked around and noticed little details. Lack of light was one of those details.

He was admiring a portrait of a knight in full gear when the door behind him opened. A tall, slender woman dressed in the most revealing kind of dress he had ever seen, outside of a brothel, showing off an impressive cleavage. The skirt had a slit from ankle to hip that left nothing to imagination. As he respectfully bowed in front of the noblewoman, he couldn't help but think about how beautiful that woman was.

"My Lady…" he greeted her, politely.

"Good evening sir. My servants informed me I was having a guest tonight. They've told me they found you stranded in the forest." Her voice was sensual and mellow, like raw honey flowing directly from the honeycomb. Her bright blue eyes glinted in the dim light and the smile she put on, probably for appearances, shined like an autonomous source of light.

Feigning meekness as well as he could, he smiled. "Yes I… was heading to Vizima but I'm not familiar with the area and I got lost. I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere and ended up walking in circles in the forest. Your attendees were so kind to give me a place, some water and soap to get rid of weeks on the road. I'll forever be thankful for that."

A valet entered and silently pulled the chair at the head of the table for his lady so she could sit, and when she was comfortably seated, he did the same for Castle. The same moment he had set his ass on the wooden surface, a small contingent of waiters and kitchen aids stormed in and brought shiny platters and bowls with the food.

It had been ages since he'd had such a luxurious banquet, that he had to admit.

They ate while chatting inconsequentially. Castle kept up the appearances and went on playing the part of the stranded lonely traveler that had stumbled upon the isolated house in the woods. The woman, Lady Beth Kandell, was apparently a widow of a small noble of Kaedwen that had decided to move in Temeria some years ago to live in peace. Little did they know about his weak heart that would leave her mourning her husband less than ten years after they had moved.

Castle shook his head, inwardly smiling. _The old trick of the deceased husband._ He had noticed she had barely ate a bite or two of the four courses of the meal and that her pupils weren't round, but straight, like the eyes of a cat.

Little light, straight pupils, ate nothing… vampire.

After dinner, the woman guided him to a parlor. She had him sit on a plush couch and poured him a glass of vodka, before sitting down herself on an armchair in front of him.

"So… tell me sir, what brings you to these parts of the kingdom?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "This and that. I'm a writer," and to an extent, that was true. "And I love to see the world. I usually travel around the world, looking for things to write about."

"And what do you write about, Sir Castle?"

"Novels, mostly. I've tried my hand in poetry, but I'll leave bards to that. I'm more interested in the mystery."

And for the first time that evening, he hadn't needed to lie. He did write in his spare time, and published under a pseudonym, with a more than decent success.

"Oh there's enough mystery to inspire you around here that's sure. I was told you were heavily armed when you arrived."

"Travelling alone, you never know what you may encounter on the roads. The world's a dangerous place."

She nodded. "Oh yes indeed. But tell me… why a Witcher would try to pass himself as a stranded traveler? Did the mayor of the village send you?"

Castle chuckled. "I see it's not possible to fool you any longer," he said, downing the remaining vodka in one quick swallow. "How long have you known?"

"Long enough. But, spill it. Did the major sent you?" she asked again.

He nodded. But he was convinced you were a succubus. And from what I gathered, I highly doubt you are."

"What do you think I am then?"

Faking an easiness that was quickly fading away, Castle crossed his legs, so that the dagger hidden in the boot was easy to reach. "Considering the amount of blood splatters your servants have tried to clean around the house, I'm quite sure you're a vampire."

"Uhm…" she nodded. "Impressive. And you gathered that only from the poorly cleaned traces of blood?"

"And the little light in the dining hall, the fact that you barely ate anything at dinner and your eyes are kind of revealing."

"Eh, I had forgotten how perceptive Witchers are. What do you intend to do?"

"First of all I would like to know if what the major said is true. He said people have been disappearing. Mostly young men, that's why he thought a succubus had taken residence here. What do you have to say about them?"

She smiled.

Fuck.

It was that kind of wicked smile that kind of monsters usually gave before they pounced at attacked.

Castle braced himself, just in case.

"They were delicious."

He was right. She pounced.

A split second after she had spoken, they were tumbling on the floor crashing furniture and destroying that adorable cabinet where she kept the liquor, spilling them all over them. Her fangs bared as she tried to bite his neck, saliva dribbling down the pointy teeth as she anticipated a succulent meal of fresh blood. He managed to shove his left forearm in her mouth to keep her from making more damage by biting more vital parts of his body.

He had made a major mistake. She wasn't a simple, common, relatively innocuous vampire. She was a Bruxa, a higher vampire, a stronger form of the same monster, more subtle as they were able to charm people to meddle with them, and definitely more dangerous. Damn he had underestimated her and was stupid enough to forget to cast the Quen Sign, that created a protective shield around him. There was nothing except the light fabric of his shirt to protect his arm from her sharp fangs.

He grimaced in pain as the monster sunk her teeth in his flesh, sucking hard as blood poured. But she couldn't expect that his blood had a revolting taste, because of all the mutagens he had been given in the past, making him a terrible meal for a monster like her. She snapped her jaws open and leaned back, hissing. His blood dripped on his face from her teeth, along with her nauseating saliva.

"You…" she cackled. "You won't leave this place alive!"

"Are you sure about that?"

She tried to bite him again and again met the muscles of his arm. While keeping her busy with that, he bent his right leg just enough so he could grab the hilt of the dagger from his boot. She was still gnawing away at his flesh when he managed to stab her in the back, three times in rapid succession. The silver blade was highly caustic to monsters like her and she let go of him, with a loud scream of pain. That gave him the chance to hit her in a much more lethal spot: he pushed the sharp blade in her ear. The silver burned her, searing her flesh and brain to a pulp. The Bruxa convulsed above him, eyes bawling as she gnawed at the air trying to set herself free from his deadly stab. He grasped her neck with his other hand, holding her in place as he pushed her back until she was lying on the floor.

He groaned as the bite marks on his arm stung and hurt, blood dripping down to his hand and making his hold on her clammy skin slippery. He doubled his effort, to keep holding her down and the dagger in her head. The exertion was making him breathless, but finally, after endless minutes of fighting to maintain control, the Bruxa stopped jerking beneath him.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled the dagger out. A gush of dark red blood and gray matter flushed out of the wound and onto the carpet, ruining it forever. The smell was disgusting, enough to make him want to puke.

Standing up, he pulled the head of the dead Bruxa so she would lie prone on the floor. He passed the silver blade on her neck. The sharp metal cut easily into the now lax flesh and cut the head off the body. That was the proof he had slain the entity that haunted the manor, to bring back to the village in order to claim the rest of the money of the contract.

He still held the head of the Bruxa by the hair and the bloodied dagger in the other hand when some valets entered. They looked at him, eyes bawling and mouth gaping in shock as they saw the guest they had welcomed and fed holding the head of their Lady, decapitated. Blood was still spurting from his own arm and dripping from the severed head and neck, and he looked positively gruesome, covered in gore.

Shrugging, he walked out of the room. "She was a Bruxa." The proceeded to show them the sharp, inhuman teeth and the straight pupils.

"But…" stammered one of the valets. "How… You're a Witcher?"

Castle nodded. "I see the spell she put on you has already vanished. Yes, I'm a Witcher and this Bruxa had enchanted all of you to believe she was your Lady. She probably killed her years ago," he explained.

"How did you…"

He shook his head. "It's my job, no more no less. And apparently you were not so good at washing the blood away from furniture and floors. Now… would you mind washing this shirt?" he asked. "I need to get to Vizima as soon as I can and I don't think walking all the way there from here covered in blood would be a good idea." He omitted the part where he'd tell them that so much blood would probably attract all the monsters in the area, but advised them to burn the body in order to avoid necrophagers, monsters that fed on dead and rotting bodies, common in badly maintained graveyards and battlefields, in the courtyard.

The servants started working again around him. They took the head of the monster and promptly put it in a burlap sack, and then someone grabbed the dagger and took down to the smithy to be cleaned and sharpened. A maid took the soiled shirt and went to wash it. A stubby elder woman dragged him in the kitchen to tend to his arm.

In a flurry of soap, hot water and healing herbs, the bite marks were disinfected and bandaged, his shirt cleaned and mended and his boots shined. One of the shepards, an amateour but capable barber that took care of the workers also cut his hair for free when he lamented how long and unruly it had become. The next morning, after a good night of sleep, he was ready to walk back to the village to cash in the rest of the payment, with a detailed map this time, gently offered by another grateful farmer.

When he appeared at the village gate, that late afternoon, holding the severed head of the monster as proof of his accomplished mission, the people were gasping in disbelief and fear. People shoved children and women inside, murmured insults and blasphemies at him, cursing his presence and the bad luck it brought. He called the major, loudly, standing in the middle of the town square showing off the head and demanding to speak to him.

The fat man hurried out of his house, scared to death. When he saw the head of the Bruxa he stopped in his tracks. "Oh my God you did it!"

"Of course I did it, you bloody idiot!" he yelled in response. "And it would have taken a lot less if you had told me in which direction to go!" he threw the head at his feet. "And it was a Bruxa, not a Succubus. Succubae leave their victim tired but alive. This one sucked them dry. Way more dangerous. Now… I was promised a decent sum of money if I dealt with what haunted that mansion, right? Time to give it up!"

The man nodded and went back inside to gather the coin. He threw him a small leather pouch from the doorstep.

Castle weighted the pouch in his hand. At least one hundred Orens, plus the two hundred he had already received… he was good for a while.

"Thank you. Now… can any of you show me the direction for Vizima or all of you bloody morons don't even know where the capital is?"

A young farmer approached him and drew the quickest route to the capital of the reign on his map, giving him some landmarks so he could orientate himself. Castle thanked him, giving him a couple of coins for the trouble and went on the road. He didn't want to spend a single moment more in that place.

He was tired of the attitude of people towards Witchers. It wasn't like they were heartless bastards. They weren't much different from them. They were just unlucky enough to be the only people trained to kill the monsters that plagued their lands.

And that scared those who were not smart enough to understand that without them, the humans, elves and dwarves alike would be constantly chased by drowners, demons and ghouls.

But apparently, a white haired man that knew how to wield a sword was scarier than a fucking Nekker.


	2. How To Deal With Idiots

**Chapter 2 - How To Deal With Idiots, Witcher Style**

Eight excruciating days later, Castle arrived in Vizima.

The high walls of the capital of the kingdom of Temeria were a sight for sore eyes. He had been on the road for so long, he was really looking forward to retrieve his royalties payment from his editor for his latest book, rent a room at the inn in the low quarter and soak in some commodities after months of enduring in the wilderness of southern Temeria, chasing monsters and sleeping on the beer soaked benches of some tavern along the road. When he was lucky.

He had spent the last night in a lice infested barn with a barghest, also known as a hell hound, that seemed intentioned to bark all night, to the point that, exhausted and furious, he had just burst out of the door, his silver sword in his hand, with only his trousers on and faced the critter. The hungry beast, surrounded by a green, fetid mist, barked and snarled at him, already tasting the fresh blood it'd draw from his chosen prey, but. If only the mangy dog hadn't picked the wrong guy.

Castle waved his hand, marking a Sign and an evanescent purple circle appeared on the ground a few steps away from him. Then he waited.

The beast bared his teeth, acid spit dripping from the sharp yellowed fangs, and pounced. But just as it felt like it had won the fight before it had even begun, it found itself trapped in a magical device that blocked it. Castle didn't waste any time, with a flick of his wrist, the silver blade cut through the barghest's neck, beheading it. The hideous head rolled a few feet away from the lifeless body, the green mist dissolved and the stench of sulfur disappeared.

Finally, the only sound that broke the quiet of the cool early spring night was the light breeze blowing southward, bringing in the scents of blooming flowers and cedar wood.

Satisfied with the result, he threw the dead body away from the barn, behind a bush and went back in the barn. He dropped on a bale of hay, grabbed a blanket he always kept in his backpack and settled down, finally able to rest.

After that, he had slept like a baby.

Yet, even after he had rested almost all night long, he was tired. It was the kind of weariness that piled up with time, more mental than physical. Strange things were happening; more monsters were popping up everywhere… He didn't have a moment to rest; he had been on the move for months, nearly a year, traveling up and down following leads and slaying monster after monster.

Witchers were few and scattered around the northern kingdoms, and monsters were many and often clumped up in a small area. Often it happened that a single Witcher found him or herself moving from village to village without a moment of break, often not even a full night of rest.

It had taken him eight days to reach the city, when it was usually a three days long journey, because willing or not villagers had things for him to do. Monsters to slay, curses to lift. People to look for. Drowners, atrocious creatures that rose from the waters of lakes and rivers where the bodies of hanged criminals were thrown, were threatening the village every night, and farmers, who often got out in the fields before dawn, were scared of them, to the point that the work in the work in the fields was slowed down by that scum. They offered him a hefty sum of money to deal with the problem, and it had taken him tour long days and nights spent stalking the banks of the river to get them all.

He needed a drink.

When he finally walked through the high door of the city walls, he relaxed a little bit. Blending in was easier in big cities, while in small villages he tended to stand up out more, given the two swords on his back, the white hair and the glowing eyes. All signs that made Witchers extremely recognizable in small crowds, but in bigger ones? There were more weirdoes to look at, than a heavily white-haired guy that kept to himself.

Vizima was crowded as usual. The gravel crunched beneath his heavy boots as he walked up the hill where the Trade Quarter was, as he wanted to get to the publisher's office before sundown. He didn't like it much, but the company was big and that way his novels could spread through the whole continent, as it was translated and printed even for Nilfgaard, but the main office was there in Vizima, so once a year he had to travel up there, no matter where he was or what he wanted to do, to gather the royalties.

And he was lucky to have them. Most of his colleagues had to survive with what they were paid by taking contracts, and often it wasn't much. More famous Witchers were usually paid more, and he was lucky he was fairly known, but those who started out were often paid only with a bowl of soup and a place to sleep. It wasn't much. He had amassed a decent wealth, in banks here and there and in Kaer Morhen too, as insurance. It allowed him to stop in big cities and temples around the world to study or write, instead of continuously chasing contracts after contracts, like he had done in the past, when he had just passed the last Trial and had been officially declared a Witcher.

The market was busy as usual, merchants hollering trying to gather more clients to their stalls before they had to close and return the next day, and the last minute customers filled the big market square. Thirsty, Castle deviated a little and found a food and drink stall, owned by an elderly lady with bright green eyes and a face that was once beautiful, but was now marked by the years spent operating a stall come hell or high water, and bought chicken sandwich and a tankard of stout beer, just to replenish some of his energyies.

Hard to believe, but it was the first meal he had to chew in more than a week, after the dinner with the Bruxa. Most of the food he had eaten after that, between lifting a curse and chasing a Drowner down a muddy river bank, was usually a tasteless mush that looked more like wet cement with a faint taste of who knows what vegetable. Not nearly enough to fill him up after he spent night and day working.

But at least there was money to deposit in the bank. And if he was lucky, some time to spend away from monsters, checking any possible new publication about them. Vesemir, his instructor back at Kaer Morhen, the fortress where he had grown up, always taught that knowledge was as valuable as the silver sword, for a Witcher, and a good one never let the opportunity to learn more about monsters pass.

And Castle had learned that often, the difference between a good Witcher and a dead one, was indeed knowledge. He hadn't remained alive for nearly a century only because he was a good swordsman, after all.

He downed the last of the beer and handed the tankard back, then headed to the publisher house, just down the road from the square. He wasn't exactly happy to meet his publisher, but it was a necessary evil.

She was a necessary evil, unfortunately.

The company was housed in a three floor building, renovated recently to match more modern aesthetic canons. Every window was adorned with potted plants and flowers that added a touch of color more and helped keep in check the revolting smells that sometimes came up from the sewers and the poor quarters, downhill. Sometimes it worked, sometimes not, but it was a nice touch nevertheless.

He knocked, and a dwarf doorman opened the door. "Good evenin' sir," he said, his voice thick and deep, with a marked accent. "How can I help ye?"

"I'm here to see Gina Cowell. She should be expecting me."

"Ah… the Witcher!" he exclaimed as he opened the door and let him in. "And she's Griffin now."

Castle chuckled. "Married again?"

"Nay, dropped the name of her dead husband." He stumbled a bit on his short legs as he climbed on his stool behind his desk. He opened a thick book to a marked page and turned it towards him, offering him a pen and inkwell. "A signature please."

Having dealt with the bureaucracy, he was allowed in. "She still has the same office upstairs?"

"Aye, still first room on the left, first floor. Good evenin'."

We walked up and knocked on the door. Gina's calm voice invited him in instantly.

As he moved inside the office, the blonde editor- in- chief of the company lifted her eyes from what looked like a manuscript and smiled. "Ah, my favourite monster slayer comes back at last. You should have been here a month ago."

He dropped the backpack and the sword scabbards on the floor and sat on a chair in front of the desk. "Work kept me on the road a while longer."

"Why don't you just drop it, settle down here and write more books?" she said. "I bet there are thousands of Witchers out there."

He snorted. "Actually, after my brother died, it's basically me, Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir. I have no idea if Ciri has undergone the mutations and other schools are reduced to three or four members themselves too. No, I can't settle down." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the ragged edges of a fairly recent scar beneath his calloused fingertips. "There's unrest in the world, monsters are popping up like daisies in Spring. And I don't really think that Radovid's army can take care of all the monsters that are killing his people in his kingdom."

"You caome from Redania? That's a long journey."

"Now you see why it took me so long to arrive here? My horse got killed halfway here and I had to walk." He then took the backpack and rummaged a little in it. He pulled a leather-bound ledger from it. "But it gave me more time to finish this and revision revise it, first page to last."

Gina took the ledger and opened it carefully, quickly reading through the first few pages. She looked happy with what he had written. "Oh good. Less work for me then. If it's not took messed up, we can have it published by next month. The crowds are agonizing for your next book."

"I doubt it. I'm pretty convinced the crowds want food that's not rotten and water that's not full of cholera bacteria, but I'll take your word for what it is. So, my money?"

She pulled a large leather sack from a drawer. "Here it is. Five thousand orens, around one thousand three hundred Novigrad crowns."

He nodded. "Good. I'll get them deposited in Vivaldi's bank as soon as I'm out of here."

"Eh, Golan doesn't own the bank anymore. He's been taken over after Foltest decided to cut the concessions to the nonhumans."

"Oh right, exactly what Temeria needed. The king is a fool."

"Might be, but he's still the king. Go, if you want to deposit the money before tonight."

He stood. "Thanks Gina. If I'm alive I'll be back for royalties next year around this time."

"Oh don't be so pessimistic Richard. We've been dealing with you for nearly five decades now and you've always come back for your money." Gina put the ledger down and stood, extending her hand. "If you don't come I assume all the royalties will go to Kaer Morhen, as per previous agreements."

They shook hands. "Yes, as usual. I'll be in the city for a while, maybe a month, studying. Maybe I'll take care of some contracts nearby. Know of any possible work for a Witcher in Vizima?"

"There's always work for a Witcher in Vizima. Our sewers are packed with whatever lives down there. Sometimes you can hear them hiss and splash around in the water. Just ask to the alderman."

"As usual, Drowners. I spent three days trying to kill as many as I can, there's an infestation around here," he mused. "Alright. You know where to find me, in case you need anything about the book."

"Of course Richard. Do you have a title?"

He nodded. "Yes. Storm Fall."

With that, he turned and walked out of the study. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he had killed the main character after so many years.

He was pretty sure he'd hear her scream all the way from the Royal library the next day.

He greeted the doorman and walked out of the building. The sun had nearly set and the few people still walking around where hurrying up home in order to get supper ready, or get ready for some ball or banquet in some noble's villa. The Trade and Upper quarter were often frequented by the nobles and well-to-do of the city, and he observed some of them, ready and set to appear to the Royal court, were heading there in carriages or by horse. That meant he had little time to go to the bank, he had to get rid of all that money or he'd be an easy prey for muggers. Not that muggers worried him, but they were a nuisance.

As Gina had said, the bank was not in the capable hands of Golan Vivaldi, the bald, thick bearded dwarvesfs that handled everyone's money and kept some of the best secrets of Temeria. Instead of his employees, countless humans jittery walked around carrying bags of money and receipts written in brown parchment. No sign of nonhumans.

He sighed. Temeria already had issues with racial disputes and riots caused by racism, the Scoia'tel, the illegal front of liberation of nonhumans gathered more supporters every day, and taking the bank from Vivaldi was a bad idea. It only added fuel to a fire that was already burning brightly in all the Northern Kingdoms. Foltest was an idiot.

His turn came and he threw the sack and the official receipt signed by Gina and her boss with the total amount of money contained in the sack written on in front of a puny, young bank teller. Then he pulled his bank statement, the booklet where all his banking information were stored and asked for the money to be added to his bank account. The booklet allowed him to withdraw or deposit his money in every bank of Temeria, Redania and Kaedwen.

The teller saw all the signs that pointed he was a Witcher and started shaking. He took the booklet, checked his information on a big book behind the counter and nodded. "Yes Mister Castle. I'll add the money right away." He took a pen from an inkwell and wrote the deposit on the registry and his booklet. "I'll have to take two hundred crowns as taxes though…"

Bored to death up to that moment, Castle felt the flare of anger spark in his chest. "Excuse me? It was only ten crowns last year!"

"King Foltest added more taxes for nonhumans sir."

Castle growled. "Do I look like a nonhuman to you?"

The teller, clearly scared to death by his glowing, catlike eyes and the rage showing in them, started shaking even harder. "It… the laws categorizes even Witchers as nonhumans, I'm sorry sir, I can't do much about it."

"Yes, of course you can do something," said Castle, waving his hand behind the counter to form the Axii Sign, the Sign that allowed him to influence people's mind. "You can take only fifty, like last year."

Confused, the teller stopped shaking and nodded. "Yes sir. As you wish sir." He sanded the fresh ink to let it dry and gave it back to him. "Thank you for choosing the New Temerian Bank and goodnight."

Castle took the booklet and stormed out of the bank.

Now he definitely needed that drink.

* * *

He found that drink in the form of a dusty bottle of cheap vodka at the cheapest tavern of the town, in the Temple quarter, the place where the poor lived. Far away from the standards of the rich people, that inn was the best place for a person like him to hide and mingle with the customers. It was the kind of place frequented by people who had little to spend, where food and drink where cheap and lacked quality and taste, but portions were abundant and the owner didn't mind if you had white hair and two swords on your back, as long as you paid.

And Castle always paid.

Close to the garrison, the tavern was packed with off-duty guards, Captain included. They played cards and dice at a table beside the corner where he sat, downing tankards of red beer as if it was water - it probably was - and merrily laughing about their good or bad luck. They took turns, as two at a time they left the table and went out to the brothel right across the street, to have fun with a girl or two, then returned to play.

Castle sat in silence, a brand new ledger in front of him, trying to write down a few ideas for the new book and a new character, yet thoughts refused to flow. He was too concentrated on the various displays of humanity, and nonhumanity, in front of him. In that smoky tavern that reeked of piss, stale spilled ale, rotten hay and sweat, he found something extremely interesting.

A woman.

A guard, apparently, given the white and red gambeson she wore with the Temerian Lilies sewn on it. But she didn't look like the kind of woman that dwelled in the slums of Vizima, she clearly wasn't a prostitute and now way in hell or heaven she was a sorceress. No, definitely not. She was… normal. The kind of girl you'd find at the Inn in the upper quarters, or at court. She had the look, the stance and the aspect of a woman, teeth included. He'd seen her smile enough to know that there weren't holes in her teeth.

She sat with two men and another woman at a small round table across the inn from his position, eating a plate of grilled lamb ribs and mashed potatoes with a tankard of Vizima's Champion, a regional variant of red ale, in front of her, quite a rich and costly dinner considering the place. Her companions were all eating and drinking the same, so it meant they had money to spend. They had probably decided to stop by the Hairy Bear only because it was close to the guardhouse.

Yet, how come a woman like that enrolled in the city guards? Women were usually forbidden from such jobs, they usually became merchants or whatever kept them away from swords and dangers…

She intrigued him.

She looked happy, as she ate and drank the evening away, and he found himself trying to figure out the reason she had joined the guards.

The only theory that made sense was the fact that she had probably lost someone dear and wanted to catch the killer. Happened often, unfortunately. She probably was from an influential family, and that allowed her to enter the guards.

Everything else was nothing but castles in the air.

Suddenly, he started writing. Fast as a hare escaping from a fox, he dipped the pen in his inkwell and words started flowing on the thick, cheap paper. The story of an orphaned noblewoman that craved justice for… her mother, and enrolled in the city guards of… Novigrad. No need to pinpoint her where she lived, probably endangering her privacy. Setting the new novel on the other side of the continent would surely deflect suspects that the story was based on a certain person in Vizima.

A certain woman with long wavy chestnut hair, deep green eyes that changed to the color of honey with the dim candlelight and a smile that could turn the most stone hearted criminal into a poodle.

That was until a clearly drunk, massive thug noticed him and let out a loud belch. "We've got a mutant in the house!" he said, pointing a stubby finger at him.

 _Well at least he didn't say freak_ , he thought.

"So what?"

"I don't like mutants!"

Castle chuckled. "And I don't like drunken stinking louts screaming at me, I guess we're even!"

"Get out of here!" he screamed again. "You'll spoil the beer!"

"Those are crones, not Witchers, idiot," he replied, anger flaming again, like in the bank. "How can I even spoil your beer from here? Jerking off and get a bull's eye in your tankard? I'm good but not that good!"

The big drunkard snorted and stood from his bench, nearly trampling his companions doing so. "How dare you? You don't know who you're talking to!" he bellowed.

"I'm talking to a drunken idiot that can't discern a cunt from a dead fish, apparently."

Everyone in the inn laughed at that, even the unknown woman. He had seen her talking to her companions, while observing the scene from afar, and smile about the idiocy of the drunk customer accusing the Witcher to spoil the beer.

At least someone in there was educated enough not to believe in stupid superstitions.

But the witty quip and the subsequent burst of hilarity only enraged the thug more. Hurt and seeking revenge, he strode towards Castle and grabbed the lapel of his white shirt, pulling him to his feet. "Say that again!"

Instead of replying, Castle waved the fingers of his left hand, in such a tiny gesture no one caught it until the Aard Sign came to be effective. A shockwave hit the thug square in his chest, pushing him back against the wall. It was so strong that he was forced to let Castle go.

The Witcher landed on his feet, as if nothing had happened, but in his hand, he already had his steel bastard sword and he was pointing it at the thug's throat. "You're a drunken idiot that can't see the differences between a dead fish and a cunt."

Then he pushed the sharp tip of the blade against his skin, just enough to graze it but not to leave a permanent scar. He wanted to feel it, the cold steel against his neck. A flick of his wrist and his jugular would be cut wide open and blood would start spraying like a fountain, as life left his body.

By the look of pure, unadulterated fear in his eyes, he didn't want to die. He remained silent, gasping as the steel prickled the sensitive skin in his neck. A small, thin drop of blood dripped down the tiny graze and stained the already filthy doublet the guy was wearing.

"You have anything else to say?" asked Castle.

The man shook his head, and the Witcher lowered his sword. "Good. Now go back to your table and keep drinking your beer. I won't spoil it, you won't disturb me or anyone else here and you'll stay calm all night. Clear?"

Not words, but only a nod and the quick execution of his orders were his answer. He sat back at his table and grabbed his tankard, going back to his drink and his friends.

Castle did the same; he went back to his bottle of vodka and his ledger. He wrote a couple pages more, outlining part of the story of the new novel then he found himself with his hand stilled on the page, writing nothing.

He was worn out. He had already rented a room, the key heavy in his pocket. So he gathered his things and headed upstairs. Doing so, he walked by the mysterious woman's table and their gazes locked for a moment. She followed him up the stairs and he felt a sort of magnetic impulse to go down and find an excuse to talk to her.

He resisted it, though, but her eyes were something magical.

He started fearing she was actually a sorceress.


	3. Well That Was Awkward

**Chapter 3 - Well That Was Awkward**

The room was small, drafty and moist, but it had a bed and clean sheets. Yes, he had spent a full night in a gorgeous bed ten days before, but during the subsequent days he worked his ass off and slept in temporary arrangements like barns or on benches in filthy inns, and the prospect of having a real mattress beneath his back that night was more than welcome. He basically collapsed on it the same moment he shut the door of the room.

The next morning, when he woke, he was greeted by an obtrusive ray of light straight in his eyes and the scent of freshly baked oat bread, flavored with honey. His stomach grumbled as he realized he was hungry. He quickly washed himself with the little water the maid had left in a jug by his bed, regretting it wasn't enough to shave, but got dressed and strapped his swords to his back and the dagger to his belt, then went downstairs. He ordered breakfast, ate calmly while writing a bit more then headed to the temple. He spent most of the day in the library of the Temple of Melitele, surrounded by tomes.

Apparently, in the last year many books had been published about monsters, with updated information he definitely needed to know to succeed in his job. New potions formulae had been created, in order to double the effects but reduce the side effects and new blade oils that gave an edge in fighting against certain monsters had been found and there was so much stuff to memorize - or take notes - before he went back on the road. It would take him at least a week to read through them, and he still had to apply to be allowed in the royal library.

He would probably need to stay a little longer, if he found more books. He also wanted to find a couple of contracts in the city, so that would take more time too. Not that he had somewhere to be – he could spend a whole here in Vizima, picking up contracts here and there. It wasn't like there was a lack of monsters in the area, but he liked to travel. It gave him a different perspective on the world and what was going on and to learn something new every day.

When night fell, he walked back to the inn and sat at the same spot as the night before, with a tankard of ale and a bowl of soup. As he read through his notes, he watched the people around him again. That night, there were many new faces he hadn't seen the night before. A small group of elves sat at the table beside him, and one of them was trying to convince the others to go with him as he was planning to leave and join a Scoia'tel band that hid in the caves. Then there were dwarves sitting together and playing dice and gwent, and their accent, so tight and recognizable, made him smile. They inserted expletives, very gross expletives, every three words and they were damn funny people as a whole. Rarely dwarves treated him like scum, quite the contrary, so he enjoyed their company from time to time. Then there was a band of thugs betting on each other in a brawling contest in the far corner of the inn.

Ah, taverns looked all the same all around the world.

Except in Nilfgaard. He hated taverns in Nilfgaard. Down south in the Empire, everything was so perfect and neat and sparkly shiny that it was almost unbearable. Witchers were frown upon, but not discriminated, yet rarely they found work. It wasn't like there was a lack of monsters in Nilfgaard, they just preferred to ignore the problem and they called professionals only when the issue had gone overboard.

It was one of the reasons Witchers rarely dealt with Niflgaardians. Except for his brother. He wandered around the empire a lot, when he was alive.

God knows why he did, but hey… if he liked it that way…

He was in the middle of his second tankard when a group of off duty guards entered the inn. Among the different voices, he caught that of a woman and looked up from his notes. The mysterious woman was back. A regular maybe? She probably came there when she finished her shift to blow off some steam with her friends. The blond blue eyed guy and the muscular hunk were with her again, but the blonde girl that was with them the other night had been replaced by a gorgeous dark skinned woman that evidently came from Zerrikania, the kingdom south of Nilfgaard, given her skin tone.

They all set at the same table and ordered both dinner and drinks, and Castle went back to his notes. Only one day and he had filled half a ledger of new notions and he was trying to go through what he could confirm with his personal experience - he was always a little wary of scholars, as they rarely had first hand experience with monsters - and what was rubbish added just to make it look like it was something new. Vesemir had taught him that technique, the meticulous review of new notions, when he was a teen and had found himself baffled by the stark differences in the descriptions of ekkimaras, the most common, and monstrous, bloodsucker in the world. The old and wise Witcher had taken three different tomes, one of them from his private library, and told him to look for the differences and write them down, then had described the creatures himself, from his own encounters. Criss-crossing the different details of all four sources, he found out that there was truth in all the three books, and some trash too.

From that moment on, he never took what he read in books for granted, he used them more to find a confirmation of his own observation, and not the sole source of his knowledge.

He was more interested in the new variations of potions though. Though toxic, there were potions that were absolutely essential in his line of work. Witchers were trained to kill monsters, but they weren't infallible. They made mistakes, took a bad step, they could find an opponent stronger than they had thought or worse, more monsters than initially expected… incidents and problems were a staple of a monster slayer field day, and potions and oils gave them the edge they needed to gain the upper hand and overcome monsters.

Sometimes men too.

A sharp dressed man appeared in his field of view and threw a heavy leather bag on the table. By the heavy thud and clinking sound it made when it landed on the flat wood surface, it was full of money. "Five hundred orens. They're yours, if you beat that guy."

Oh, the brawlers.

Castle looked up at the man he was supposed to beat. Short, definitely overweight, round head and sunken eyes. His nose had been broken multiple times and he limped slightly. A soldier wounded in battle?

"Why should I accept it?" he asked.

"Gregor wants to see if he can win a fight against a Witcher. That's all. Free to accept or decline."

By the tone in his voice, he clearly wasn't free to decline. They'd probably force him to fight anyway, be it in a honest one-on-one brawl for the bets or an ambush outside the inn, one day or another.

He sighed. "Alright. Rules?"

"No bites. No magic. No weapons. Fight's won when one gives up or goes down and stays down for longer than ten seconds."

"That easy?" The man nodded. Castle closed the ledger and put it away in his backpack, along with the inkwell and the pen. "I need someone to keep my things."

The blond guy with the mysterious woman held up his hand. "We'll keep them, Witcher."

Castle took his things and handed them to the off duty guard. "You bet?"

The blond guy shrugged his shoulders. "A little. Just enough that if you win I will have enough to pay dinner and drinks for us."

The Witcher nodded. "I'll make sure you win."

With that, he approached the makeshift ring.

"Gentlemen…" the sharp dressed man started. "We have a new participant to our little tournament. Sir…"

"Richard Castle."

"...Sir Richard Castle versus our champion, Gregor. Chivalrously challenged, the Witcher here decided to accept the contest. You both know the rules. Let the best of you win."

He stepped back and let the fighters do their thing. Gregor's style was nothing more than drunkenly sway his huge fists as if they were hoes in a cornfield, he was powerful but really slow and predictable. Considering his body mass, it was more than comprehensible.

Castle swiftly evaded his assault, stepping laterally a couple of times before landing a jab to Gregor's nose. The massive man, taken by surprise, nearly stumbled on his feet as he held his bleeding nose. A thunderous roar started from the crowd as they cheered for the first blood.

He chuckled as the man, now extremely angry, assaulted him once again. He parried a couple of mean hooks that could have dislocated his jaw if they had landed and avoided a third one, ducking beneath it. He exploited the momentum to push his knee deep in his protruding stomach, full of beer, and immediately landing a punch to his solar plexus. The combined force of both the knee kick and the punch forced Gregor to double over, holding his belly and howling in pain.

Castle wiped his hair away from his face and studied his adversary. Gregor was clearly not a match for a Witcher and had bit more than he could actually chew. There was no need to humiliate him more in front of his friends. He went for one last punch to his face. His clenched fist collided with his cheekbone, hardened knuckles shattered his facial bones and split the soft tissues. Blood spurted from his face, a couple of teeth landed on the floor and then Gregor fell hard on the wooden tiles, grunting as he hit his head on the wooden floor.

He stayed down.

Everyone in the inn, even those not interested in betting on the brawls, was now watching the downfall of the local champion, by the hand of a stranger that had barely broke a sweat while beating his adversary to unconsciousness. He looked around and saw the guy that had offered to keep his things safe baffled beyond reason, same went for the other man and the black haired woman. But apparently, the mysterious guard that had caught his eye the other night was rather interested in his display of brutal force. He felt her piercing eyes delving deep into his soul, as if she was looking for the answer to a question she only knew.

"Well…" he said. "Guess I earned those orens…"

The guy that had recruited him handed him a heavy leather bag. He opened it, took some coins out and threw them at the innkeeper. "Next round's on me." The he took his backpack and his swords from the still astounded guard. "Thank you for you help, Officer."

"Ryan…" he added. "Kevin Ryan."

"Nice to meet you, Officer Ryan. And thanks again." He ran a hand through his hair. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I will retire to my room. Ladies, gentlemen…" He tipped his head and headed to the stairs.

Once there, he shut the door behind him and threw his things on the bed, then proceeded to take off his shirt and boots, throwing them at the foot of the bed.

Sighing, he realized he smelled like a stable, and some of Gregor's blood had stained his pants and his face too. He definitely needed to pay a visit to the public baths, but for the moment, the water in the jug left by the maid and the little soap he had with him would have to suffice. In the small, chipped mirror attached to the wall, he noticed he definitely needed to shave too, the brisk white stubble covered his chin and cheeks, scratching as he ran his hands on his face.

 _Ah, so many things, so little time…_ he thought as he removed his pants and undergarments, then he splashed some cold water on his face, neck and chest, felt it trickle down his abdomen, giving him an invigorating ticklish feeling on the marred skin. He took the small soapbar he always carried with him and dunked it in the bowl of water, then fiercely rubbed the wet bar on the critical spots to wash away some of the dust and blood that had accumulated on his skin after a long day in the library and after that fight. The droplets quickly became darker as they washed away the grime from his skin. He gathered some more water from the bowl and wetted his hair and beard and when he added the soap the lather that formed quickly turned into a sickly pinkish gray from all the dirt and blood plastered in it. The little water he had at his disposition wasn't nearly enough to clean himself as he wished, but it was something. He'd give any sum of money for a hot water tub, but it wasn't the time nor place.

Most of all because someone was approaching the door of his room. Light steps, swift movements. The sounds were muffled, he was probably wearing frayed leather boots. There was a slight hitch in the gait, either caused by a limp or by a sword hanging from the left hip.

Probably one of the friends of Gregor, downstairs, that wanted revenge for his humiliation.

Not even caring about his state of undress and the fact that he was still in the middle of his makeshift shower, Castle grabbed the knife he kept behind his back and hid behind the door.

The person on the other side knocked. At the lack of an answer, he knocked again. And again. After the third knock, left unanswered, he opened the door and stepped in.

Not even looking who the intruder was, the Witcher pounced like a cat stalking his prey. He silently moved from his hideout and grabbed the intruder from the back, his left hand holding him by the jaw and the knife pressed at the throat.

Only that, when the cold steel of the blade had already nicked the skin, he realized there was something wrong.

The intruder had long, wavy hair. It tickled his chest as he kept him locked in what could have been a deadly hold. No one among the brawlers downstairs had long hair. Also, he smelled like wild cherries, not exactly a manly fragrance. And it wasn't a cheap perfume, that he could tell for sure as a small cloud lifted off the person he was threatening to kill.

He looked down and saw the mystery woman, her beautiful face distorted by terror and shock, tears brimming in her eyes as she tried to remain as still as possible while his blade pressed against her pulse point.

As if electrocuted, Castle let her go and pushed her away, bewildered and terrified by his own behavior. He planted the knife in the wooden frame of the door and shut it. "What the hell are you doing here?"

The woman coughed and pressed her hand at her neck. A rivulet of blood oozed from her throat. "Do you threaten to kill everyone looking to hire you?" she asked, her voice broken and hoarse. "Hey, you're naked!"

He mentally smacked himself and walked to the bed where his towel lay, still unused, and wrapped it around his hips to cover at least the essential. "I'm sorry I… I thought you were one of the guys downstairs."

"Who? Those idiots that fight for money? They're still trying to set Gregor's nose," she explained, still pressing on the wound.

"I'm sorry." He fumbled around a pouch he kept attached to his belt and pulled out a small Celandine flower and a clean piece of cloth. He crushed and twisted the flower with his fingers and let the thick yellow liquid drip on the cloth, the held it close to her mouth. "Spit."

"What?!"

He groaned. "I'm trying to stop the bleeding. Spit, for fuck's sake!"

Not exactly happy, she obeyed. "That's disgusting…"

"Yeah, but effective," he said. Then he rudely pulled her hand away from her neck and pressed impromptu salve to the wound.

She grimaced. "It stings."

"It's mildly toxic, that's why it stings, but it will stop the bleeding and close the wound, leaving no scar behind."

"How do you even know it?"

"Witcher, remember?" He walked past her and pulled a chair from the corner of the room, then gestured her to sit down. When she was settled, he stood a few feet away from her. "So, you said something about hiring me?"

The woman nodded. "Yes, well… Now I'm not exactly sure I still want to hire you, after the stunt you just pulled."

He chuckled and folded his arms across his bare chest. "I wouldn't be surprised. It was incredibly rude and definitely awkward, I am deeply sorry it happened."

That tore a smile from her. "And they say Witchers have no feelings."

Castle shrugged his shoulders. "Common misconception. We're just better at hiding them than the normal population. By the way, I'm Richard Castle, professional monster slayer."

He extended his hand. Shifting her hold on her neck, she grabbed and shook it. The strength of her handshake surprised him. "Kate Beckett. City guard."

"Nice to meet you. So? The job?"

"Ah… yes… I want you to help me catch my mother's killer."

Quite a blunt request. "Uhm… isn't that the role of a City guard? Or of a detective?"

She nodded. "I hired Raymond Maarloeve and he failed miserably. Or more likely, he got too scared. Waste of money, I tell you."

"Where do I come in? I'm not a detective."

"You see… my mother was killed ten years ago. By a monster."

That caught his attention. Not the fact that the murder had happened a decade before, but the monster part. "How can you be sure?"

"The autopsy report states so, and I saw the body myself: mangled and half eaten. There were bite marks as big as a bear, but they seemed shaped like a human mouth. She was found a week after her disappearance in an Elven ruin beneath the City."

"Couldn't ghouls or drowners have caused the marks on the body?"

She shook her head. "No. The medical examiner determined all the bites and wounds were inflicted ante mortem. Groups of people stalked the sewers around the entrance of the ruin for weeks, but nothing came up."

"And you think a Witcher can find something normal humans can't? Hey, it's been ten years. Maybe the monster that killed your mother is dead."

"It wasn't the first time it killed, and it wasn't the last. In the past years, more than twenty people died by the hands of the same monster. One turned up just this morning, same marks, same place. The body is in the morgue at the moment."

That was interesting. Very interesting.

"Tell me more about it."

"Simple as it gets. Sometimes a body is found around town. Some in the sewers, some in the outskirts, some have been found in the swamp just north of here… it's never the same though, but it's always close to water. They all disappear and then, a week later, the body comes up somewhere, fresh and with no sign of decomposition. No traces to be found, no dragging marks, nothing. The alderman told the guards to stop looking for the responsible and put up a contract, but no one ever found anything."

"No Witchers claimed that contract in the past?" he asked.

"No, no one. Not that many of them come to Vizima these days, the ink on the parchment has now faded, I think, as it's been pinned to the notice board for years now. So? I'm going to pay you, and you can claim the contract too. Just help me find my mother's murderer, please. I can't do it on my own."

Castle thought about it for a long while before giving her an answer. A monster that had been in the same area for so many years… that acted always the same way, with so many victims… that was a dangerous kind of monster. A highly intelligent one, it seemed, as it kept its victims alive for a time before killing them. It didn't look good for the city.

Bitterly, he thought about his dead brother. He was the one specialized in the weird things. Together, they had seen the best and the worst the world had to offer in matters of monsters, and his big brother was like a magnet for the strange stuff. He had almost forgot the "normal" stuff, to the point he often asked his help to deal with more mundane curses.

He would have loved thisone.

"Let's say I help you. What do you mean bythat? Witchers usually work alone."

"Mister Castle…"

He stopped her. "Castle will be just fine."

She nodded. "Castle, I want to know what happened. And I don't want to hear a summary of it. I want to know, I want to see. That's why I want to follow you. I became a guard because I wanted to catch the bastard that killed my mother and threw my father down the rabbit hole of alcoholism. Is it too much to ask?"

"No, not at all. Just… I will need to examine the body and the place it was found. And the other spots, if you remember them. I can't ask to look at older bodies as I assume they've already been buried but…"

"Anything you want. I'm off duty tomorrow, we can start whenever you want."

She looked so eager to start, it was almost touching. Of course, it was a sore spot for her, as her mother had been killed, but she looked extremely interested in catching the monster no matter what. She took her job pretty seriously, apparently.

"Alright. Tomorrow morning then. I usually wake up pretty early, you'll find me downstairs at the usual table."

"You're not even going to haggle about the money?"

Castle scratched his chin, amused by the comment. "I have other sources of income. And considering how long that monster has been around, I highly doubt they are going to pay me one hundred orens or less."

She chuckled. The sound was like a melody to his ears, so used to people wishing he would die as they saw him. On the contrary, she was at ease with him, didn't treat him like an outcast. That was new.

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow then." She stood and walked to the door. "Goodnight, Castle."

"Goodnight, Beckett." And then she was gone.

He remained there, as if stuck to the wooden floor, naked except for the gray towel around his hips, thinking.

There was something strange about that woman, that Kate Beckett. He understood why she had decided to turn down the perks of being highborn, because she clearly was by the way she walked, spoke and acted, and become a humble city guard, but what he couldn't understand was her attitude towards him.

Rarely normal people like her acted so at ease with Witchers. Mostly, mages and sorceress treated them as human beings, and not even all of them were so well disposed towards his caste. But she was. Even after he had pressed a freshly sharpened knife at her neck, actually wounding her. Not to mention the blatant display of nudity, that let her see not only his private parts, but also the scars left on his body by more than half a century on the road fighting monsters and demons. That alone would have driven even the kindest person away. He was a grizzly sight, he knew it, and though he couldn't do much about it except for covering the marks with appropriate clothing, he was a little self conscious about it.

That woman was a mystery, he had guessed just right the night before down in the tavern, as he made up stories about her to fill the void of a dull evening. Stories that, fuelled by alcohol and weariness, had quickly become the source of his new novel. He had also guessed the reason she had become a guard. Not a small feature, that was sure.

He had her name now, he could stop fantasizing about a nameless woman that could or could not be a sorceress. Because that thought kept nagging at him. Usually sorceress released a magical aura, something he was trained to sense, but they also knew how to dampen it, so others couldn't pick it up, therefore there still was a chance she actually was one of the few female mages that roamed around the world, just like Witchers did.

This was going to be an exciting contract.


	4. Victim Profiling

_From now on I'll take a lot of liberties with the original material. Fans of Sapkowski's books and CDProjekt Red's games, please forgive me._

* * *

 **Chapter 4 - Victim Profiling**

The next morning, Castle woke up even earlier than usual. The sky had just started lighting up, it had a grayish, gloomy shade that made everything dull and boring. The Temple Quarter wasn't exactly the most stylish place in Vizima, it gathered the houses of the poor population, the nonhuman ghetto, the hospital, the Melitele Temple, a brothel and not much else. Poverty reigned supreme, the streets were constantly covered with mud, blood and dung, and to be completely honest, Castle wasn't exactly happy to stay there. But it was close to the Temple and he needed to be close to the library and it was easier. Not to mention cheaper.

Yet, that morning, he had other things in mind.

Before collapsing like a heap of wet cloth on the bed and sleep soundly until the first light of morning, he had spent quite a lot of time thinking about the contract that had basically landed in his hands in the form of a beautiful woman that could or could not be a sorceress.

So many victims in such a long span of time and no one had ever thought of contacting a Witcher? He was going to talk to the alderman about it, if there really was a contract posted, he should have seen it in the past. He visited Vizima fairly often, he took contracts every time he was there and he had never heard of this creature.

That story stunk more than a Rotfiend. And those monsters stunk like dead fish and sheep shit, all mixed in a rotten mix that ruined clothes and forced the unfortunate people who found themselves in the radius of their explosion - because they exploded when they died - to literally boil themselves in scalding water and caustic soda to wash away the smell. He himself was once forced to shave his head because he could still smell it around him.

Anyway, he got dressed, strapped his swords behind his back and went downstairs. The wife of the innkeeper, a sweet elderly woman with big blue eyes and gray streaked black hair, greeted him with a smile. Contrary to her husband, she had always treated him kindly. It wasn't the first time he rented a room there, they knew him, but the owner kept treating him like crap. His wife, on the other hand, kind of cuddled him.

"Good morning master Witcher," she greeted him. "Did ye sleep well?"

He smiled. "As always, Mrs. Fitzgibbons. Can I help you?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm just fine." Her accent made him smile. "What do you want for breakfast? The usual?"

He sat at his table and nodded. "The usual will be just fine."

A moment later, a large platter with freshly baked rye bread, butter and apricot jam, with a mug of steaming milk mixed with roasted barley powder. He wasn't a fan of overly complicated meals, the simpler the better. Simple, easily digestible, energetic meals, that was his rule. Fighting a monster with indigestion wasn't exactly the best way to assure you'd get out of the fight with all your limbs still attached.

He was spreading the apricot jam on the second slice of buttered bread when the door at his right opened and Kate Beckett stepped in the tavern. The sudden waft of cool morning air brought in all the smells from outside, even the faint scent of celandine plants that grew just outside the city walls. It had rained a little bit that night, so the smell in the air was strong and sharp in the thick, humid air.

She looked around and when she noticed him, she walked to the table and sat in front of him.

"Morning," she said.

"Morning to you." She was different, without the city guard gambeson. Her clothes were tight and hugged her body perfectly. The black leather pants were a little worn, but well made. Tailored, probably, as was the white shirt beneath the purple doublet and the gray jacket. She was harmed, a sword at her hip and a dagger strapped at her thigh. The woman knew her way around steel too, the both looked high grade metal, with a great deal of craftsmanship in the blades and the hilts.

"Slept well?" she asked.

"As well as you can sleep in a ratty place like this," he replied, lowering his voice so the innkeeper's wife wouldn't hear him. "Want something to eat? Drink?"

"Same thing you're having."

A quick nod to the elderly woman and a second platter appeared in front of them, another mug too. "Now that we're both eating…" she started. "You have a plan?"

He nodded. "Yes, just as I told you yesterday. I want to look at the body, where it was found. And I'm going to ask around."

"You can skip the last part. I already did that, many times."

He smiled as he chewed on a big bite of bread, the swallowed. "With all the due respect, I have ways you guards don't have. I can make people talk pretty easily."

"You mean you're going to use the Axii sign on those who don't want to collaborate?"

"How do you know about Signs?"

Beckett chuckled. "I read. A lot. Even about you Witchers."

"And what do you know?" he asked.

She took a sip from her mug before she spoke. "Well, I know for instance you're of the school of the Wolf, given the wolfhead amulet hanging from your neck. I know you're pretty famous around here, specialized in curses and wraiths, but you can deal with monsters pretty well too. I also know you visit Vizima at least once a year around this time, that you usually spend a month here studying and that you always rent a room here."

"Wow… I'm impressed."

"Oh but there's more. I know you had an older half brother, that died in Rivia five years ago, his body never to be found, I know you write books to earn something on the side and that you're a vocal opposer, as your brother was of racism and you often took sides of the oppressed. And before you ask me how I do know about all of this, let's just say I wanted to hire the best, after Maarloeve failed to deliver."

He growled, softly. She knew too much. Things only a handful of people knew about him, all of them scattered around the world and one of them was dead.

He so wanted to ask her if she was a sorceress, but if she hadn't yet revealed it, there was a good reason. No need to scare a possible client away so early in the morning.

"As I said," he started. "I'm impressed. But with this set of skills at finding information, how come you didn't find anything about this creature?"

She smiled. "I'm good at following leads of people that leave tracks behind. This monster doesn't, or at least it doesn't leave tracks I can follow. That's where you come in."

Castle nodded. "I see. Come, if you're done with your breakfast, we can go."

"You sure you can walk in a morgue right after breakfast?"

"Beckett, please. I kill monsters for a living. After you kill your first zeugl, you're ready for everything, even a stroll in a morgue right after breakfast."

He paid for their meals and they walked out of the inn. The city was lazily waking up, only shopkeepers and the casual drunk sleeping the hangover off were on the streets. Even the guards were missing. Beckett guided him to the morgue, not far from the graveyard. On their way there, they encountered a heavily armed patrolman with a different coat of arms from the city guards.

"Hey, who's that guy?" asked Castle as they passed him by.

"Who? The knight? One of the guys from the Order Of The Flaming Rose. They're like… I don't know… special forces? They arrived here about six months ago, took over that building up there and started patrolling the city. Simple as that."

"Do they make a difference?"

Beckett shrugged her shoulders. "Not a bit. We still have our issues with criminals and monsters in the sewers, things we have to deal with. The only difference is that the Temple of Melitele is quickly losing regulars during functions while the cult of Eternal Fires gathers more. What do you think?"

"Bah… religion's not my cup of tea so I try not to think about it. What do you think though?"

"They're self righteous pricks that don't have a fucking reason to be here. They give us hell and do nothing to help us. I wish they'd just get the fuck out of Vizima and leave us be. We're not perfect, but damn it they're making everything worse with all their freakin' preaching and everything. By the way, what's a zeugl?" she asked turning in a closed alley and heading towards a small door recessed in the thick wall of a building.

Castle sighed. "You don't want to know. We're here?"

"Yes. Ready?" He nodded. She opened the door and let him in. "Lanie! I'm here!"

The dark skinned woman from the other night was standing near a stone table with a dead body laying on it. "Oh, you got him. Is he alright with dead bodies?"

"Ma'am, I'm a Witcher," he interjected. "As I said to Kate just a moment ago, once you kill a zeugl, there's nothing that would make me throw up."

The woman, the medical examiner apparently, nodded. "If you're sure. Come, the body you want to see is here."

She guided them to the back of the damp, dark room, to a slab of stone propped up against a corner. "Here he is. Mathias Rockford, Redanian," she read from a parchment attached to the toe of the body. "Reported missing eight days ago by a fellow merchant and found yesterday morning in the old elven ruins beneath the city. Cause of death, undetermined, but I suspect it was blunt force trauma to the back of his head." She turned the head and showed them a large wound that left the cracked skull exposed.

Castle nodded. "May I take a closer look?"

"Be my guest, Master Witcher."

"Drop the formalities. We're colleagues, in a sense."

With that, he ignited a torch hanging by the slab with a quick flick of his fingers and moved the source of light closer to the body, in order to see better. Upon a first, cursory look the body was definitely in bad conditions. Rigor mortis had come and gone already, meaning the poor man had died more than twenty four hours earlier, and he had little blood left in him, considering the severed arm, the large missing chunk of thigh and the missing guts too. Large, monster-like bites covered his skin, some superficial and some deep enough to cause copious blood loss. All wounds were ante or perimortem.

"Alright, definitely a monster," he declared. "Beckett, can you hold the torch? I need both hands."

He rolled the sleeves of his shirt up above his elbow and went back to examining the body. Careful, he started a very scrupulous search for traces and anything left behind by the murderer. "You still have the clothes?" he asked.

Lanie nodded. "Yes. They're in a bag beneath the table. You can look at them too, if you need."

"Thank you." Then he went back at the body. He examined the head first. The wound in the back of the head had been caused by a cylindrical object, probably a blackjack of some sorts, wielded by a very strong arm, and it was indeed the cause of death. Bruising of the scalp around the ragged edges of the wound proved that blood still flowed in the poor man's body when the fatal blow had been administered. He looked through the hair and ears, found traces of dust and some scented oil residues on the skin and hair. Same traces of oil around the eyes and the mouth. In fact, the head was the only part of the body that lacked bite marks or wounds of any kind.

"Did you notice that the face is unscathed, save for the wound in the back of the head?"

The two women took a long look at the body before nodding. "Yes. Any particular reason?"

"Repellant oil." He pressed his thumb beneath the left eye and gathered a little of the residue on his finger, then smelled it. "Dog tallow, wolfsbane and bryonia. Common repellant for both werewolves and lesser vampires. Not enough to cause the beast to coward but just enough to make it avoid the face. Did the other bodies have their faces intact too?"

"Yes," replied Beckett. "They were all recognizable, untouched."

"Mmh… sounds like premeditation to me."

"You mean this is not the work of a monster?" asked Lanie.

"Oh, it definitely is the work of a monster, but the body has been used as a bait by someone that wanted to hide a murder, that's it."

"That means?"

"Give me more time. You said there were no traces left where you found the body?"

"Not one."

He cleared his throat. "We'll see about that. Let me finish."

Slowly, he examined the rest of the head. Around the nostrils he found some white powder. Fisstech, probably, the favorite drug of the moment, easy to produce, cheap and extremely addicting. When snorted or rubbed on someone's mucosa, usually the gums or the inner lining of the mouth, it had narcotic effects. It was sometimes used, in deliberately small doses, as a painkiller for treating extreme wounds, as it had a very quick effect. Here, apparently, the merchant had been kept sedated with it. There were no signs of defensive wounds anywhere on the body.

Out of habit, being used to dealing with monster corpses to extract the valuable parts for his potions or to sell as trophies, he checked the mouth of the merchant.

"Ah! As I thought. The tongue's missing," he exclaimed.

"Surgically removed," added Lanie. "It's the first time though, I checked the reports on the other bodies found in the past and everyone of them still had the tongue."

"Whoever is doing this, he or she has a ritual and uses a monster to torture his or her victims. By the type of wounds, I dare to say we're dealing with a lesser vampire, a fleder maybe. Most of them hibernate if they don't find food, so it's kind of easy to keep one in captivity and awaken it when it's required. You said something, yesterday, about bodies being always found near water. The elven ruins you spoke of, are they close to any water way?"

Beckett nodded. "Yes. The ruins are crossed by the sewers."

"Then I suspect that the ruins are the dropping spot, but sometimes they are flooded and bodies are caught in the undertow and dragged somewhere else. That would explain the fact that all the bodies are found close to water and with no traces left on them."

The medical examiner thought about it for a moment. "That's plausible. The first solid theory and lead we've had in years actually."

"Beckett, when people disappear, do you patrol the place?"

She shrugged. "Used to. After the third body appeared there as if by magic, with a squad of armed guards patrolling the ruins, the alderman gave up."

"Mmh, magic involved. Maybe there's a portal or something like that… I need to see the place though to be certain."

"You're thinking of residual magic there?"

He frowned, observing the mauled body in front of him. "Might be. Won't know until I see it. Wouldn't be bad to see even a couple of other places where other bodies have been found too."

"Can be arranged."

"I'll go and retrieve the files about the most recent murders," stated Lanie. "Last two? Three? Five?"

"Five will be fine, it's not like we have all the time in the world, we have a serial killer to catch."

"So? It is a serial killer?" asked Beckett.

"Oh definitely, a serial killer with a monster in the basement. A monster he uses to hide his crimes. And that makes him extremely dangerous."

Suddenly, that contract moved up a notch on his scale of interest.

Monsters and other foul creatures sometimes were nothing compared to some humans. Sometimes monsters were just victims of adverse circumstances, mostly caused by other humans, like botchlings and the very common drowners, and in that particular situation, the real monster was the man behind the trapped creature kept in captivity to satisfy his sadistic need to hurt and kill.

"Before I go, can I take a look at the clothes?"

Lanie pulled a bag from beneath the stone slab. "Here you go. There's a desk if you want to use it, over there."

The Witcher spread the clothes of the victim on the wooden table. Lacerations on the cloth coincided with the bite marks on the body. Blood and mud stained the once fine trousers and doublet, while the once red shirt was now completely soiled. The cuts indicated sharp fangs and taloned hands, so the hypothesis of a lesser vampire had some foundation indeed. He searched every nook, fold, and crease in the clothes, finding more traces of fisstech and pollen. It was spring, so it could possibly be due to the high pollen count in the air, but he took a mental note about it nevertheless, because it was verbena pollen, an uncommon potted plant.

Much to Beckett's disgust, he was very careful in his examination and also smelled the filthy clothes. Except for the mud, sewage and blood, he could distinctly pick up the smell of another man. As it hadn't been submerged by the sewer waters and not washed like the body, the cloth had retained all the smells of everything it had been in contact with. Around the lapel of the doublet and shirt, there was a faint but distinguishable scent, a high quality fragrance typically used by high society men. White musk with a tad of sandalwood, very common in Nilfgaard, less widespread in the northern kingdoms.

"Ladies, we're looking for a rich man," he declared.

"You sure?" asked Lanie.

"Hell yeah I'm sure. A rich man that likes cologne." He spread the shirt and doublet and pointed at their lapels. "He must have grabbed our merchant and some of the perfume, probably not yet dried up on his wrists, was transferred to the tissue, here and here. It's faint, but I could still pick it up."

The medical examiner sighed. "Must be so good to have enhanced senses in your line of work."

"Oh believe me, it's extremely useful, but it's also a damn curse on its own. Now, if I may… can you show me the ruins?"

"Sure, come with me."

They walked out of the morgue to find a slightly busier Vizima. Shops had opened, pilgrims and believers were coming and going from the temple, be it for a prayer before work or to ask the Sisters of Melitele, tame and obedient servants of the goddess, to heal minor wounds and ailments, and the streets were full of people busy with their tasks.

"Tell me about your mother," he said, breaking the silence.

"Why?"

"Victim profiling."

The guard sighed. "Well, she was a lawyer… from Redania. Both my parents come from Redania actually, and they worked here in Vizima at the Redanian embassy. That's all."

"Any connection with the other victims?"

She shrugged. "Nope. Many were beggars or workers. People easy to find at night, that few people would notice if they were missing. The merchant was the first important person killed after I think three total unknown."

"So there isn't a track to follow. Uhm… I was hoping our guy had a preference. Anyway, I suppose we'll have to go through the sewers to reach the ruins. You ready for that?"

"Stop asking me if I'm ready for disgusting stuff. I'm a city guard, I see filth every day," she explained. "I went down to look for the dead guy, I was one of those that hauled the corpse all the way up there, with Esposito and Ryan. I can deal with those kind of things."

Castle smiled, inwardly. That woman was incredible. She reminded him of Triss, a close friend - _very close_ friend - that had a fierce character, strong enough to keep up with Lambert… and if she could keep up with that grouchy, sarcastic prick of his colleague, then she was a very strong person. A bit finicky about dirt, but Kate apparently didn't mind getting down and dirty. Literally.

But mind out of the gutter, Kate was opening the gate that led them inside the underground sewers of Vizima. It was time to get knee deep _in_ the gutter.


	5. Of Serial Killers Necrophagers And

**Chapter 5 -** **Of Serial Killers, Necrophagers And Natural Gas Deposits**

It wasn't the first time he ventured in the sewers of Vizima. Sewers in general were a staple of the work of a Witcher, as they often offered a perfect harbor for monsters to hide, hunt and reproduce. From nothing but annoying critters to much more dangerous, fully grown nightmares of four legs, sewers had it all. Like swamps.

Monsters loved dark, dank and wet environments, that wasforsure.

When Kate closed the gate behind them, they were left with little light to see where they would set foot. Castle had enhanced senses, sight included, but Witcher training and mutations only went so far.

"You have a torch?" he asked. He could barely see Kate blindly palming the walls around the entrance, probably looking for the hinges holding one.

"Should be here somewhere." He got it right.

Shaking his head, he slipped a vial from a loop in his belt, pulled the cork and drank the potion it contained. Barely seconds later, he retched, nearly throwing it all up as it quickly slid down his throat, burning the delicate tissues. He felt the toxic effects too, as his muscles contracted and released so quick it gave him cramps, and his stomach decided it was time to take his liver out for a very acrobatic dance around his guts.

"You alright?"

He groaned and squinted his eyes. The potion was already working. "Yes… it's just potions are crap…"

"A potion for what?"

"To see better in the dark," he explained. "It gives an advantage, so we don't need to use torches in situations like these. We don't see exactly like in broad daylight, but hey… it's better than waving a torch in one hand and a sword in the other. By the way…" He flicked his fingers in the Igni Sign and a torch about two meters away from Kate ignited.

"Oh, thank you." She pulled it from the hinges and looked around. "Alright… come with me."

"With pleasure."

She walked on the sidewalk, carefully avoiding the edge of it in order to avoid falling in the disgusting stagnant waters that flowed in the canal. She moved through the maze of corridors, nooks, dead ends and cave ins as if she wandered down there ever since she was a child. She probably patrolled these dank and wet halls regularly.

"You come down here often?" he asked, out of curiosity.

"Not more often than any other guards. We usually patrol only the halls closer to the entrances, except when someone disappears, then someone has to go down to the ruins once or twice a day, to check for a body. But I have a good memory, and I can orient myself pretty easily. That's why I move so fine down here. Did you ever come here?"

"Once or twice, usually chasing Drowners and the like. I can hear them, deeper in the sewers."

She snorted. "Nothing new… we've had them crawling all around the city, ever since the graveyard was infested, we have to dump corpses in here."

Castle halted abruptly, appalled. Dropping corpses in the sewers was idiotic to say the least, never mind it was definitely anti-hygienic. He had to repress a gagging feeling that nearly made him puke his guts out.

"What the flying fuck?" he exclaimed, disgusted to the boot. "There's a fuckin' infestation of Drowners all around the outskirts, I had to chase a huge pack for days down by the mill not three days ago and then it turns out it's just because you drop bodies in the sewers? I knew Temerians were crazy, but not to this point!"

"Hey Castle it's not like Witchers grow in fields like White Myrtle!" she rebutted, sardonic. "If you had dared to take a look at the notice board you'd know there's a contract up there for anyone who can kill the infesting ghouls or whatever has taken residence in the graveyard! Drowners are easy to take care of, even without a silver-plated sword, ghouls? Not so much."

True. So very true. Drowners were dangerous when in packs, but usually weaklings compared to other monsters. Ghouls on the other hand… those were serious sons of bitches, tough as stone and hungry for dead flesh, just like all necrophages. No wonder they'd drop bodies in the sewers if the graveyard was infested.

"Could have told me…" He threw her a small bottle with a greenish liquid inside it.

"What's that?" she asked as she grabbed it.

"Necrophage oil. You don't have a silver sword, but this will make steel just as good for cutting down that type of monsters. I highly doubt what I'm hearing is just a large pack of Drowners. Just pour it on the blade then put it back in the sheath. It won't be as efficient as silver, but still better than bare steel."

She handed him the torch and pulled her sword out of its scabbard, then proceeded to apply the oil as he had told her. "I've always wondered why monsters are so terribly affected by silver."

"Disruptive effect on magic. All monsters are susceptible to fluctuations in magic, but as dimeritium actually blocks magic, silver disrupts it to the point that sometimes weak monsters can't survive even being close to silver."

"You don't even have to touch them?"

He shook his head. "For particularly weak monsters, sometimes it's not necessary. It's rare though. How far are we?"

Beckett took the torch back. "Not far, we're almost there. Not a fan of sewers?"

"Not exactly. Not after I nearly drowned in slime and shit in Novigrad during an unexpected flood."

She barely repressed a giggle, but he could hear her nevertheless. "What happened?"

"I was following the tracks of an ekkimara, a lower vampire. They're pretty common in big cities and this one lurked in the sewers. Novigrad was built around the time Vizima was, so the sewers are pretty much like this, tall walls and a channel dug in the center to allow water to flow. I had been down there for a while and apparently a huge storm had come from the sea, it rained so hard that the sewers were flooded, with me and the ekkimara inside it."

"And?"

Castle took a deep breath and listened to his surroundings for a moment before answering. There was something moving, lurking with them, deeper down the halls, but it was still far from them. He could speak without risking to be caught off guard.

"I ran. The wave caught up on me while I was nearly out, and was dragged down with it. I barely managed to breathe when I started tumbling out of control, with the heavy gear keeping me down in the undertow. Until I was pushed hard against a wall and it crumbled under the force of the tide and the sheer weight of my body. I landed in a brothel's basement."

"No way!"

He nodded. "Weird, isn't it?"

"More like a cruel joke!" she exclaimed.

"Well, a joke it was, but it wasn't cruel." He chuckled at the memory. "The girls found me covered in slime and… I don't even want to think about it, helped me get cleaned up, offered clean clothes and a warm meal then sent me on my way. They just asked me to check on the attic because they feared a wraith had taken residence there. It wasn't a wraith though; it was a confused ghost of a man that lived in the adjacent building. He wanted to stay in his home, just got misplaced in the process. I helped him find his way and everything was fine."

"You're a resourceful man…" she mumbled, as if lost in her thoughts.

"I try not to spoil any act of kindness. When people treat you like crap most of the time, you learn to accept anything even limitedly gentle thrown your way, be it a prostitute with a warm towel or a confused ghost that strangely enough doesn't want to kill you."

"I still have to find a good reason to hold Witchers to such low standards, but here we are," she stated. She turned in what looked like a small alcove but turned out to be a caved in wall that had revealed a pre-existent elven ruin. There were unlit torches all around, and as they ventured deeper in the ruins, she lit them with her own. The vaulted ceiling was high and featured the remains of once rich engravings and decorations, now covered in mold and smoothed by time and neglect. It was a catacomb, a common vestiges of the once thriving civilization of the Aen Seidhe, the elves that populated the Continent before the arrival of mankind.

As Beckett lit more torches and more light came to his eyes, he noticed the first tracks. Diluted blood smears here and there, where bodies were dragged around by the tides, claw marks of necrophages, recent multiple trails of footsteps from the guards that had removed the last body. Things she couldn't see with her own, normal eyes.

She pointed at a dark spot on the stone floor. "There. That's where we found the last bodies. And my mother, for your information."

Silently, he nodded and gave a precursory look at the room. _No tracks my ass_ he thought, as he found clear so many things to look at that he didn't know where to start.

He decided to concentrate on the most obvious one; the big stain of coagulated blood on the ground, but this time, he wanted to let Kate participate with his musings. He pulled a torch from the hinges on the wall and knelt beside it. "See here?" He pointed at the very center of the almost circular spot. "There are at least three layers of dried blood. Did you have abundant rain last autumn?"

She nodded. "Yes. But this is the first body we found since last summer."

"But not the first victim of the year. There are signs of washed blood, here and here…" he gestured at the edges of the spot, where the color was lighter and looked like someone had tried to wipe it, but it was only the effect of the clothes of the victim dragging on the stone when the floods took them towards the sewers. "Necrophage arrived earlier than you guards, see the tracks here? Or the victim was simply of little interest or without family to denounce his or her disappearance and you didn't look in here."

"That makes things worse, doesn't it?"

"Far worse. Means the beast is hungry, and I'm not talking about the fleder or the katakan our guy keeps in his dungeons."

"I get it. So… more victims than we calculated. Just… awesome," she mumbled in such a sarcastic tone he figuratively felt the sting on his skin.

"Our guy also stays here with the victim for a while. He may have not when he dropped that body and you guards patrolled the area, but he did with the last one. There are two clean footprints, two yards on your left, of a stationary person. Heavy build, big feet, the soles of his shoes or boots are a little consumed on the external sides, so I suspect he has foot overpronation. Quite common condition, not exactly useful to identify him, but the more you know." He moved away from the bloody spot and closer to the place where the murderer liked to stand. "But here we have… Hair. Short, neatly cropped and styled." He picked it up and brought it to his nose. "And clean. We can rule out most of Vizima."

"Our guy is rich, you already determined it. So far we have a rich, tall man with clean hair and a small defect of his feet. Wow… and I thought we had nothing to work on."

Castle chuckled. "There's more."

"How can there possibly be more than this?"

"There's magic." He took his medallion off and threw it to her. "It's vibrating. That means magic. And I'm pretty sure our guy moves in and out with a portal."

Beckett handed the heavy medallion back and he quickly worn it again. He felt naked without it. "So we have to look for a mage."

"Or a Source."

And what she said about Sources, people with strong innate magical abilities, betrayed her.

"Don't be ridiculous Castle, Sources are incredibly rare and there hasn't been one ever since Pavetta died what? Twenty years ago? There's her daughter, but no other Sources have been identified since Cirilla."

First and foremost, how could a lowly guard know about what Sources were without him explaining it? But given she was highborn, maybe she had read it somewhere, but most important… how could she know about Ciri? His brother's protegee and powerful Source, not to mention a child of the Elder Blood, a direct descendant of Lara Dorren, the powerful elven sorceress that married a human mage, and their daughter Riannon begun a lineage of powerful beings regarded as special.

Beckett paled, distinctly, realizing the big mistake she had just made. She had slipped, pretty blatantly, and had given him the final evidence he needed.

"So you're a sorceress…" he stated, barely able to hide the amusement in his voice.

Sighing, she nodded. "Yes."

"So why did a sorceress join the city guards?"

She shrugged. "Money. I needed money to survive. And it was a job that would allow me to monitor my mother's murderer, but evidently this guy is way better than me. I knew about the portals, but the rest, what you discovered today just looking around? Not a clue."

"Where did you get the information about me?" he asked.

"Triss Merigold. And to be honest I knew your brother. Not as well as Triss or Yennefer, but we worked together, years ago."

"He never mentioned you."

Kate laughed. "Maybe because I'm the only sorceress he hasn't ploughed?" she said, quite entertained by the thought, by the tone of her voice. "I guess he wasn't exactly keen to talk about the only woman in the continent that refused to be fucked by the almighty Geralt of Rivia!"

It made him smile. His brother was known to be a ladies' man, and he had a reputation both as a monster slayer and as… well… he fucked a lot of women when he was alive.

And it had always created friction between him and Yennefer, the woman he regarded as his one true love but kept him on razor's edge, pulling at his strings like a puppet, bedding him one night and leaving him with nothing but his underclothes the next morning.

"Then, my dear Kate Beckett, you're a rare pearl. Come on, let me look around some more, let's see if I can find something useful."

She let him work a little more, in silence, before she spoke again. "Triss spoke highly of you."

Castle frowned. "Did she recommend me?"

"Sort of. She told me to approach you, in case you ever decided to visit Vizima around the time our killer struck again. Said you're a good investigator."

"Oh… I was kind of hoping she'd say I'm as good as Geralt as a Witcher."

He had always lived in the shadow of his older, more famous brother, though they were both just as good. Only Geralt had the "luck" to find himself in more interesting situations than him. Also, being followed around by a famous bard like Dandelion that constantly wrote ballads about him helped his fame to reach the sky, while Castle was more of a normal kind of Witcher. Like Eskel and Lambert, he did his job but never meddled with the great affairs of politics, kings and queens.

Or Sources.

"She said that in some ways you're better than him. She said Geralt was great with the uncommon, but you're way better than him with more mundane tasks."

Castle laughed. "Yeah, that's Geralt for you. He hated studying. I highly doubt he'd remember the ritual to turn a botchling into a lubberkin, if he were alive."

"Come on Castle, you know that ritual is risky, I can count on one hand the people that actually know how to perform it. And pull it off."

"I know. Every angry spirit is hard to appease. Botchlings are spirits that have known nothing but torment and pain, they weren't even born when they died. You can imagine how a not completely developed soul would feel if suddenly they'd be yanked away from the security of their mother's womb and discarded like a piece of rotting flesh, not properly buried and often not even recognized?"

"Personally, I'd be angry as hell," she revealed.

"Miscarried fetuses know nothing but that. Anger. Botchlings are more dangerous than people think. I've dealt with countless of them, and one was so angry and so thirsty for his parents' blood that he nearly broke my leg. Damn that thing didn't want to be sated, I had to slice him in half to get rid of him."

"You guys have a tough job…"

"Don't even get me , I don't think I can find any more clues in here. I guess the residual magic isn't enough to track down the destination of the portal."

Beckett shook her head. "Already tried. There's no residue useful enough for me to track it down precisely. It's here in Vizima though, that I can tell."

"Let's get out of here. I'm getting a headache and there's something coming this way, unless you're willing to get dirty, we'd better get out of here."

They walked out of the ruins, trying not to slip in the dirty water, and hurried towards the exit. They had been down in the sewers for so long they both couldn't stand the stench of filth anymore.

"Mind to tell me why you didn't tell me you were a sorceress?" asked Castle after a while as she guided him out.

"I'm here undercover. People don't know I'm a sorceress, my parents kept it a secret because they didn't want people to harass me. There has been some unrest against mages, sorceresses and the like. People don't trust us and they don't waste time to remind us. I was away from Vizima when my mother was killed, studying, and… well, let's say I had enough problems with my dad being an alcoholic, I didn't want people to spit at me in the streets because of my powers."

He nodded. "Seems a good reason. Is he alright? Your father I mean."

"As good as a recovering alcoholic may be. It's tough, but he's getting out of it. We're doing good."

"Glad to hear it. You mentioned…"

He didn't finish the sentence. He heard something, the sound of scratching. Claws on stone, hard and sharp. Jaws with sharp fangs gnawing on dry bones, trying to extract the marrow from the cavities. Necrophagers.

He stopped, the soles of his boots practically nailed to the stones beneath them. His right hand went straight to the hilt of his silver sword. "Kate, stop…" he whispered.

"I heard it. What do you think it is?"

Castle shrugged as he pulled the sword from the sheath. "Could be anything from a drowner to a cemetaur, though it's probably a ghoul."

They heard a definite, low-pitched growl and the sound of splashing around. "Ghouls then… multiple, probably three or four, maybe more," he stated. "You know how to throw fireballs?"

"How do you think I shoved your brother out of my room?" From her free palm, a small ball of fire appeared, levitating about three centimeters from her skin.

"Good… stay behind me. I'll see if I can deal with these nasty little critters alone."

Another growl echoed in the halls and it gave him the cue for which direction go and investigate.

They didn't have to walk long. In the parallel corridor, they found a small group of ghouls feasting on a fresh corpse. What they saw was enough to make Kate gag, as she wasn't used to the gory sight in front of her. Six ghouls were tearing apart the corpse of what looked like an elderly man, already quartered and divided between them. Among the ghouls, a huge gravier, a monster typically found where dead bodies abounded like graveyards or battlefields. It stood proudly on its feet in the slimish water, holding a leg in his taloned hands and banqueting on the meager meal. Blood dripped from his jaws, and the disgusting sound of flesh being ripped from the body filled the room. For someone not used to such a thing, it was absolutely unimaginable. And utterly disgusting.

"Stay here. If you see I'm having a hard time, shoot the hell out of them."

Beckett nodded as he flicked his fingers and formed the Quen sign. A barely visible magical shield surrounded him from head to booth. He needed all the protection he could get. Graviers and ghouls weren't only extremely tough and strong physically, some of them were also poisonous. Most of all the graviers, their saliva was caustic and hurt like hell when it came into contact with the skin, something he definitely wanted to avoid.

He carefully approached the group of necrophages, admiring the weird circumstance of such a diverse gathering of monsters actually working together in the dreadful task of dismembering the poor guy and not fighting each other to death. In order not to be detected by their acute senses, not too different from his own, thought not enhanced with mutations, he moved timing his slow steps with the almost rhythmic sloshing of stagnant water against the bank he was walking on. That allowed him to get closer without being noticed by the monsters.

It gave him a more than discreet advantage in the fight. Not that he needed it, it was a fairly easy situation for a trained, expert Witcher like him, but he wasn't familiar with the terrain and the wet stones made fighting a lot trickier than the usual.

And he didn't want to dive in sewage waters.

When he deemed he was close enough, he pulled a bomb from a pouch hanging from his belt. That would probably get rid of most of the monsters, leaving only the gravier standing if he was lucky enough. He ignited the sulfur-coated fuse rubbing it against a rough spot of his belt and threw it in the middle of the group of ghouls.

The deflagration echoed in the sewers in a thunderous cacophony of splashing water, monsters dying and screaming bloody murder for it, the actual explosive going off and the grapeshots flying all over the place, sticking in the monsters' flesh with that sickening sound that made him gag every time he heard it.

When the dust cleared, he saw the corpses of the ghouls floating, dead, in the sewage, as he had predicted. But most important, the gravier was now alerted of his presence and he was angry. Better, he was totally pissed off. It roared as its pitch black blood poured from the wounds the bomb had caused and when it noticed Castle, it pounced, hungry for fresh meat.

But the Witcher was faster. The gravier approached, stomping in the knee-deep sewage water with big taloned feet, splashing water all around.

About three feet away from him, the hideous, bloody creature growled and bared its long irregular teeth to threaten him one last time before trying to tear his arms out of their sockets and feast on them. Castle took advantage of the short-lived distraction to draw the Igni Sign and the gravier was surrounded by bright flames. The oily skin caught fire in less than a second, and the monster started wailing in pain as half its body burned. It took a step back before bending over the water in order to put out the flames - a display of rare intelligence from a creature such as its kind -only then, the Witcher used his sword.

One single downward blow and he beheaded the monster. The silver blade not only cut, but also singed the already burning skin, sizzling like a piece of pork meat of a heated grill. The head floated down with the stream and disappeared, while the body, heavier, remained closer. He observed the broad, hunched back still on fire slowly bob along the filthy canal along with the dead ghouls.

"Ugly, filthy piece of crap…" he muttered.

"Nice clean work, Witcher," stated Beckett behind him.

He shrugged and sheathed his sword. "Easy enough, but you never know with these guys."

"I've had my fair share of encounters with necrophagers in my life, most of them while I couldn't use magic, and that was a pretty neat job."

"You must be pretty good with that sword."

"Decent enough, but..." she sniffled the air, "is that gas?"

Castle did the same, looking around. Amidst the disgusting smell typical of sewers, there was flammable natural gas. And that wasn't normal. It came from the corridor behind them.

Turning around, he noticed some bubbles coming up from the canal, about fifteen meters ahead of them, where the corpses of the ghouls floated around. And above the water, the distinct flickering of gas. The bomb he had thrown must have created a fracture in the bottom of the canal that evidently rested atop of a natural gas deposit. It was now quickly bubbling up and…

And the flaming corpse was floating right in that direction.

Fuck.

"Kate… run."

He didn't need to tell her twice. She spun on her heels and bolted towards the nearest exit, with him following suit, but it was too late. Too much gas with a live flame that was too close. The gravier's body reached the fissure where the gas was quickly pouring.

The explosion was strong and contained by the sturdy walls of the sewers and the blast wave made them tumble, although Castle had been quick enough to grab Beckett and surround them both with an unfortunately short lived shield. It lasted enough to protect them from the initial shock, but the explosion was so powerful it surpassed the protective abilities of the Quen Sign.

What they didn't expect was the literal shitstorm that roseas a consequence. The otherwise lazy and quiet stream of filthy water turned into a turbulent flood, heading to the first opening to vent the kinetic energy of the wave. Before they could even start formulating a thought of another protective shield, they were both submerged by the revolting wave and hauled in it, even faster than the wave that had submerged him in Novigrad all those years ago.

Castle managed to grab Beckett's hand so they wouldn't get separated and held on her tight until they finally tumbled out of the sewers, not even ten seconds later. Seconds that lasted like an eternity to him, and he guessed to her too.

The force of the turbulent flow pushed them out of the drain so hard that they jumped out of the canal and into the murky, muddy water of the dyke north of the City. They fell in the water with two loud splashes and then they got separated, rolling in the shallow waters. Castle's harsh ride came to an abrupt hand as his back forcefully collided with one of the posts of the small harbor, and it knocked the little air he still had out of his lungs.

Hurting and breathless, the Witcher barely had a moment to collect his bearings when a hand grasped the lapel of his sodden shirt and pulled him up and out of the water. The same hand briskly wiped the mud away from his face and held his head afloat as he pushed a harsh gulp of air into his body, still winded a little.

"You alright?" asked the sorceress. "You hit that pole pretty hard."

Castle nodded. "I think…" He ran his hands all over his body, checking for wounds or missing equipment. A minor ache at his left shoulder where he hit the post and no missing vials, pouches or swords. "Yes, I'm fine. You?"

"I'm in dire need of a scalding bath and disinfectant, but perfectly fine." Her voice had a tad of commanding tone that made him feel strangely aroused, even in a horrific situation like that. "Come, I can make a portal to my house once we're ashore. We've got a lot to talk about."

 _Oh, just great…_ he thought. _I hate portals._


	6. Appearances Often Deceive

_Guys and gals, I need some help: I need to know if those who aren't familiar with The Witcher universe understand what I'm writing, like the setting, what happens, the monsters... if there's anything that you don't understand, write a review and tell me, I'd hate to write a story that only few people understand because I'm being too cryptic or relying too much on the Witcher's lore without explaining it to you. I've been mentioning characters from that universe, some have major roles and it can be confusing. If you don't understand something, just write it down and I'll try to be more explicit about them, explain more, use the Castle's characters "ignorance" on Witcher's line of work to explain things to you too._

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 **Chapter 6 - Appearances Often Deceive**

It was a family trait. They both hated travelling through portals, they couldn't help themselves. The feeling of being forcefully yanked by their belt and thrown at light speed somewhere possibly thousands of miles away made them sick to their stomach, both of them.

Alas, working with mages and sorceresses meant they often had to travel via portals. And yet Castle had to master the art of gracefully walking in and out of them. He usually stumbled and fell on the ground holding his stomach trying not to puke his guts out.

Like in that occasion. While Kate elegantly walked out of the portal she had created, no matter the fact that she was covered head to toe in filth and drenched to the bone, he lost his footing right outside the portal and fell on the wooden floor whining like a child as he tried to fight off the strong wave of nausea that made him feel like someone was gripping his stomach trying to force his breakfast up his throat once again.

"You know, if I hadn't known you're Geralt's younger brother, I would have guessed right now," she said, looking down at him, hands on her hips as if judging him. "You two have the same reaction to portals, the same glassy eyes… The resemblance is uncanny. Same father, right?"

He nodded. "But different mothers." He dry heaved a little bit. "You're not making it easier though…" he groaned.

"You're the one that got us in trouble."

"Oh excuse me if I didn't know Vizima's sewers were so fuckin' close to a natural gas deposit!"

She chuckled. "I was jesting, idiot. Come on, let's get cleaned up."

"Do you have running water in the house?" he asked, as he gingerly stood up.

"No, but if you know sorceresses, you know we are resourceful. If you noticed, we're in the basement and I have two tubs right there, though one needs to be cleaned because I don't use it much. I can conjure hot water on demand, I've got soap and upstairs I think I have something that would fit you while you wait for your clothes to dry after you wash them. You in?"

"Of course I'm in! Just give me a tub and some water… Damn I hate sewers."

"Like any other person with a sane mind. Come on, help me with the tub." She waved in the general direction of the worst lit part of the room.

The old tub was a large wooden one, those usually used to wash large amounts of clothes or bed sheets. It rested vertically, perched beneath a shelf with vials and an alembic for alchemy and a low cupboard, covered in dust. Together, they pulled it out of its tight confinements and rolled it closer to the other, more used tub.

"We could set something up to separate the two tubs, you know… for privacy," he started.

She laughed, softly, as she raised an eyebrow in mirth. "Castle, please, I've already seen you naked."

"I know, but I haven't' seen you. And I'd really like to keep it that way."

Liar.

Bad liar. He knew it; he had it written all over his face that he was lying. Bad. But apparently she bought it. Or didn't pay too much attention about it, he wasn't sure.

She threw him a rag and he used it to collect as much dust and dirt he could. "There, I think it's clean enough."

"Cleaner than both of us, that's for sure. Stand back, I'll conjure the water."

He did as told. He stepped back and silently begun divesting himself. He took off the harness that held his swords and gently laid them against the wall, then the belt. Those needed to be cleaned separately, or better, be replaced completely. The sheaths were good, the swords could be cleaned or if needed restored by a good blacksmith, but the belt and harness? They were both made of porous leather, they were meant to be robust, not posh. It was good quality leather, but without the lacquer layer that usually covered other items made of leather to make them look shiny and smooth, they absorbed water and everything that came with it.

He could try to wash them the best he could, but he would probably need to buy new ones. And the harness that held the swords on his back had to be custom made, because sane people held their swords at their hips, not on their back.

Oh well, such is life.

He was taking off the soaked, stinky, once-white shirt when he heard the sudden splash of water. Looking up, he saw Beckett standing between the tubs, now filled with steaming clean water. She looked at both, apparently satisfied with the result of her quick incantation. "Not bad…" she said. "Throw the dirty clothes in that corner; we'll take care of them later." Then she turned to a wardrobe and pulled out towels for both of them. She placed a couple of them on a table beside his tub.

"We're lucky some of the filth was washed away when we plunged in the dyke."

"And got replaced by mud, don't know what's better." She threw him a soap bar. "Get in there, Witcher. We've got work to do."

Castle pulled his boots off and threw them in the heap of clothes. They were lucky most of the disgusting residues had been partially washed away as they swam ashore, after they had plunged out of the sewers. "Let's get cleaned up. I highly doubt the alderman would like to talk to a guy that smells like overflowing sewers. A Witcher, moreover. You know people don't usually like us."

"Yeah, like people absolutely love sorceresses." She pulled off her jacket and shirt. "So you really want to pull something up to separate the tubs?"

He shook his head and took off his shirt. "I'll turn around as you get undressed. When you're done I can…"

"I don't mind if you see me naked, I already told you."

"Well I do!" he snapped. "I might be Geralt's younger brother but that doesn't mean I'm like him." Then he turned around and faced away from her, allowing her to get undressed and into the tub.

A thick, long silence fell between them. Standing there, his arms folded across his bare chest, he felt a little stupid. When people learned he was Geralt's brother, they instantly assumed he was just like him, a playboy that more often than not couldn't keep it in his pants. Like any other man, Castle loved sex, and he wasn't one that would renounce a woman to warm his bed, but not like this. Never mix work and sex, he had learned from Geralt's mistakes.

Sex and work? Nope. No way. Never in his life. And it didn't matter if Kate Beckett was kindly offering it on a silver platter. Or… a wooden bathtub.

"You can turn around," she said. "I'm pretty decent, everything considered."

Grunting, he took off his soiled trousers and underwear then plunged in the hot water. Sinking down beneath the surface, he relished the scalding sensation on his skin and felt that sickening feeling slowly fade away as the muck and dirt peeling off his skin.

He reemerged about thirty seconds later and wiped the floppy, soaked hair from his face. "Now… I feel better."

"You don't say…" she replied, sardonic. "What do you want to do next?"

"Next? First and foremost, I want to get rid of the stench. Second, I want to talk to the alderman about a couple of things and see if I can get admitted in the Royal Archives. I need to do some research before I tackle this bastard."

"Any idea?"

"We're dealing with a deranged kind of man here. If I'm right and he actually keeps a fleder in the basement to hide his murders… damn, I don't think I've ever seen anything like this. And I've been on the road for a long while," he explained as he rubbed the soap through his hair. "My idea is to get rid of it as soon as we can, but I need to know more. Modus operandi, time between each murder… things like that."

"I'm sure Lanie will have the other victims' notes in no time. She's got her hands full, with the plague and everything, but she's a quick worker."

"And a very understanding one." Cupping his hands, he gathered some water and washed away the suds from his head, then rested his arms on the sides of the tub. "Man I could get used to this…"

"Hot water on demand?" she asked, rubbing the soap in her own mane to wash away all the grime. "You could settle down in Novigrad, the baths there are awesome."

"And deal with the Church Of Eternal Fire every day? No thank you. I travel there from time to time, but staying there? Not for me. But hot water on demand is awesome. I just wish I had my razor with me, I'd shave too."

"Sorry, can't help with that. That wound though? On your forearm, it's recent?"

Castle looked down at his left arm, where the bruxa had bitten him ten days earlier. "This? Higher vampire, ten days ago. I was hired to get rid of a succubus, found a bruxa that had taken possession of a manor and all the people living there were under her spell. I was stupid and underestimated her, she nearly overcame me and the first idea I had in mind was shoving my arm in her mouth when she tried to bite me."

"Must have hurt like a bitch."

He shrugged. "No more than an alghoul spike through the calf." He lifted his right leg and showed her the twin scars that ran diagonally on his skin. "Entered here." He pointed at the scar closer to the ankle. "And exited here. Through and through with little resistance from a once very sturdy leather boot. It was a pain to throw that pair away."

Beckett laughed. "I thought the spike was the painful part!"

"Yeah, but wounds heal! Boots with holes like that can't be repaired, they need to be replaced. And I loved that pair of boots!"

Shaking her head, she giggled. "You're a strange man, Richard Castle."

"And you're a strange woman, Kate Beckett. Tell me though, how did you meet Triss?"

She entwined her fingers and place her hands behind her head, as a pillow. "Long story short, we met one day in Novigrad ages ago and hit it off right away. We became friends and… something more from time to time."

Knowing Triss, Castle wasn't exactly surprised. "That sounds like Triss…" he murmured. "And you asked her about me?"

"Told you, I wanted the best. And the best she could suggest was you. She said you're driven, concentrated and that you know how to do your job neatly. Exactly what I was looking for."

He nodded. "Glad to know. Damn it's been a while since I saw her. How is she faring?"

"Splits her time between Kaer Morhen and here. She's King Foltest's advisor."

"Damn she's doing a good job if he passed such a fucked up law that messes up so much with non-humans," he replied, slightly disappointed and definitely sarcastic.

"She's his advisor about magical matters. Laws and other things like that aren't her expertise. From what she told me, she had no word in that law; no matter how loud she spoke against it. And Foltest's an idiot, not to mention he's a fool and an incestuous rapist, what do you expect from that kind of man?"

"Nothing different..." He softly banged his fist on the side of the tub. "But enough soaking up, I don't want to look like a prune when I go talk to the alderman. You take your time, I can deal with him." He stood up and grabbed a towel that he tied at his waist, while using the other to dry his hair and body. Kate's sudden intake of breath wasn't missed by his fine ears. "You mentioned some clean clothes that might fit me?"

She took a deep breath, maybe to calm herself down. "Yes. Upstairs. Give me a moment and…"

He gestured her to stay where she was. "Don't. Just tell me where they are and I'll take care of finding them."

"And have you snoopingaround my stuff? No thank you." She stood up and Castle barely had the time to turn around. He couldn't help but catch a glimpse of her naked, wet body and feel slightly embarrassed by the sudden arousal that coursed through his body. He heard her trafficking with the towels. "You can turn around. Damn, I've never met a more prudish Witcher in my life."

"Guess it's what makes me one of a kind."

Castle let her guide him upstairs. For a woman that lived on the salary of a city guard, Kate's house was nice, decently big and most of all, clean. Being on the road for the better part of the year, he appreciated tidiness and cleanliness when he saw it. It was colorful and bright, full of light, unlike most of the houses in that part of the world, swallowed by the smoke of tallow candles and low quality oil lanterns. A sight for sore eyes, considering he currently stayed in one of such places.

"Stay here," she told him before heading towards what he thought was her bedroom. He was alone for a while in her living room, and out of politeness so he wouldn't snoop around too much, he walked by one of the tall bookshelves. The books were pressed on them, to make them fit. She had so many of them they were really tightly pressed in the wooden structure. Many were tomes about magic and alchemy, and he knew some of them by heart. He smiled when he noticed a well worn out copy of "Ghouls And Alghouls" as it brought back some fond memories of his childhood and teenage spent at the fortress of Kaer Morhen with his fellow students. That book was boring as fuck, but damn that thing taught him how to survive…

But the biggest surprise was the whole collection of his own books, carefully lined right in his line of sight. Some showed more signs of wear than others, but they had all been read more than once. The leather spine of "In A Hail Of Bolts", his first book, was cracked and nearly fallenapart. It was hard to see the golden title printed on the leather cover.

The sorceress returned some minutes later. "Here. I hope they'll fit." She handed her the pile of clothes. "If you can wait a moment I'll get dressed and wash your boots."

"Kate, really. Take your time, I know you're upset. That thing that just happened? It's Witcher's work, not a sorceress'. You were kind enough to come with me. Getting submerged in that stuff can be overbearing, I get it. Take your time and if you want to soak in the tub a little more, you're free to do it. I can take care of my things."

She shook her head and smiled. "Thanks Castle, but other than a sorceress, I'm also a city guard. I'm used to be covered in shit, be it real or metaphorical. But you see, as a sorceress, cleaning things for me is like the flick of a finger. Stop being the gentleman your brother never was, I get it; you're not Geralt."

She had read him like an open book. And it blew him away.

The moment she had mentioned about knowing his brother and having dealt with his worst, womanizing side, Castle had started walking on eggshells. Because people not only tended to compare him to Geralt, they also thought that, considering they were step-brothers, they were also very much alike, even in that aspect. Truth was, he and Geralt were quite different, on that aspect. While Geralt loved to take his cock out and plough pretty much everything that had boobs and breathed, dryads included, Richard was much more… normal? Not that he didn't have a long backlog of women he had bedded, but not as many as his older brother. Also, never when he was in a committed relationship.

He had witnessed to many of Yennefer's breakdowns when Geralt did something stupid - pretty much every other month - and that had taught him how _not_ to deal with a relationship. For a time there was Meredith, in Oxenfurt, and her beautiful little girl that called him Daddy even though he wasn't her biological father, but their jobs forced them apart. Meredith was a minstrel, always travelling up and down Redania, and he was a Witcher, always travelling up and down the continent and often even the Skellige Islands… how could they make it work? But out of that disastrous relationship, Alexis came out as a strong, accomplished woman that worked in Tretegor, Redania's capital city, as a lawyer.

Anyway, in his zealous attempt not to act like his brother, he had sort of become a honey-coated spineless wimp, all about politeness and modesty. Evidently, Kate Beckett was made of something else and didn't care much.

"Right… I'm sorry. It's just… I don't like being compared to him. Not in that aspect at least. We're pretty similar in character and training, but that idiot sometimes can't keep it in his pants!"

"Good thing you Witchers can't sire children, or he'd be overrun by little Geralts at this point."

"Go and tell that to Yennefer." The sorceress and Geralt's on-and-off magically linked partner held a huge grudge about the fact that like the greatest part of sorceresses, she was sterile. Combine that with the fact that Witchers were also unable to sire children, and there went her instinct for motherhood. She had been lucky when Geralt basically adopted Cirilla as his protégée, after her mother died and her father decided it was time to retake his place as the Emperor of Nilfgaard, because the same way Castle had been a father figure for Alexis, they were Ciri's parents through and through. That had helped her sate her great desire for motherhood.

"Oh I know perfectly well. She came to me years ago, since I'm pretty known for my abilities as a healer, to ask if I could help her in any way."

"So you too got caught in that whirlwind… nice to know. We have something in common then. Listen, I'll go and change, do you mind cleaning up my boots so I can go and talk to the alderman?"

Beckett flicked her fingers and murmured some words he didn't understand. "Done. Now go, I'll take care of your belt and harness too. Go and see Lanie at the morgue, I'm pretty sure she'll have the documents ready. "

He smiled. "Thanks, Beckett. I really appreciate it."

She nodded. "And they say Witchers are heartless…"

* * *

The alderman, the closest thing to a mayor in the city, languidly sat in his padded chair, skimming through the accountant's book as he reviewed it, when Castle entered in his office. "Sir, do you have a moment?"

The corpulent man raised his eyes from the large book on his desk. "What d'ya want?"

"I've taken on the contract for the monster that kills those people in the sewers." Then he slammed the faded piece of parchment he had taken from the notice board right outside. "I need to see the city records for disappeared people."

"On the account of the city of Vizima or fo' a third party?"

"The city of Vizima," he lied.

The man stroked his oily mustache for a moment, looking at him. Evidently he didn't trust him. "Whateva. What d'ya wanna know?"

"Who were the victims, when where and how they were found. You must have a record."

The alderman nodded, though it was kind of hard to tell, considering that he had no visible neck and the movements of his head were hindered by the stiff gorget. "On that shelf," he barked, pointing at a bookshelf on his right. "Third from the floor, fifth book from the left, purple leather cover. Ya'll find anything ya need. And now, get out of me sigh, before me eyes start bleeding."

Barely containing his rage, Castle walked over said shelf and pulled the volume out, then walked out. The alderman didn't even look at him, or respond to his farewell.

Sighing, the Witcher walked to the morgue, not too distant. He took some time to enjoy the warmth of the sun, after the plunge in the dyke - not to mention the tumble in sewage - that had chilled him to the bone. The sky was clean, with sparse fluffy white clouds that brought nothing but the sudden need to just lie down on a grassy field and relax, maybe reading a book that wasn't about murders. Ah well, such is the life of a monsterslayer, he thought bitterly as he knocked on the door of the morgue.

The door opened a moment later, Lanie appearing on the threshold with a bloody apron in clear view. That didn't discourage him from smiling as she cheerfully welcomed in her small, creepy realm.

"I see you changed clothes. Had a little incident in the sewers?"

He nodded. "Yes well… we encountered a pack of ghouls and a gravier and… I fucked up. I used a bomb to get rid of most of them, not knowing that the city is basically lying upon a huge natural gas deposit and… boom," he explained, quickly. "Beckett was kind enough to lend me some clean clothes so I wouldn't have to walk back to the Hairy Bear Inn covered in sewer water."

"And you also can keep working on it. I see." She picked up a thick folder from a desk. "Here are all the annotations from the autopsies of the last ten murders. I was able to dig up a little more than you asked, it has been kind of a lazy morning."

"Thank you Lanie. Listen, I've got a question for you. While we were down there I noticed traces of more bodies than those that have turned out. Did you any strange unidentified corpses in the past six months?"

The woman looked pensive. "Many beggars find their way on my tables during winter, many of them die of exposure because they are homeless and can't find shelter from the cold. I had a couple of stab wounds last month, but mostly I deal with plague victims these days." She paused for a moment, probably thinking about the bodies that had landed on her tables in the past year. "There was actually someone… or better something. Some time ago a brickmaker brought a bag from the swamp, it contained skeletal human remains. He said he found them one morning while out fishing."

"What kind of remains?" he asked.

"A leg without the foot, part of the rib cage, that appeared crushed by heavy impact, an arm that showed signs of gnawing here and there, which could be attributed to the animals and the monsters that inhabit the swamps."

"Drowners, ghouls and the like?"

She nodded. "The occasional lesser vampire. There have been sightings of rotfiends, or so I've been told."

"Nekkers? Drowner deads? Bloedzuigers?" At her questioning look he decided to explain her a bit. "Nekkers are like drowners, only they don't thrive from the spirits of the dead thrown in the water, and they are way more intelligent. Drowner deads are a different form of drowners, they usually spawn from the spirit of criminals not buried but simply thrown in the water or executed by drowning. Bloedzuigers are disgusting swollen creatures that resemble leeches,only they are twice my size."

And he was big.

Lanie made a disgusted face. "Ugh… and people think my job is disgusting."

Castle chuckled. "Personally, I would never trade my job with yours, I like being outside, no matter how many monsters I might encounter on the path. But speaking of the remains, anything strange?"

"Nothing that I could pick up. Probably you could, considering how amazing you were early this morning."

"Can I examine the remains?"

"Eh, it might be a little difficult. They have already been interred in a common pit in the cemetery, before the ghouls appeared."

He rubbed his hands on his face, scratching the beard. "Damn there's that thing too. Alright, let's rule this body as accidental death in the swamps, I can't investigate on that too. Now… I'll study your annotations and the volume the alderman was so kind to lend, then we'll see what will happen."

"Right. In case I remember something I know where to find you," said the medical examiner. "But before you go, let me give you a hint; go at the Temple and ask around. They welcome many beggars and homeless people there, it has almost turned into a hospital, considering they treat all the victims of the plague that ask for help, they might know something."

"You think the non-human population might have anything to say?"

"Yes," she asserted. "There have been many victims among elves and dwarves, they might have seen something. You should ask in the inns and taverns too."

"Shopkeepers?"

"Everywhere you deem it might help you. We need this to be over, absolutely. It's been going on for too long and I'm scared," she revealed. "Javier has to accompany me home every night, I'm really, really scared."

"And this Javier is…"

"Oh sorry… he's my boyfriend, one of Kate's colleague and friends."

He nodded. "Alright… I guess it's time to work on what I have. I hope Beckett won't mind if I use her living room as a base for today."

"As long as you don't snoop around, she'll be fine. She very protective of her privacy."

He had noticed. "I see. Well, time to get back to work. Have a nice day."

* * *

Castle entered Beckett's house with the spare key she had given him earlier and stopped in the foyer. "Beckett? I got what I was looking for. Mind if I temporarily take residence here to work?"

Silence.

"Beckett?" he called again. Still no answer.

"Damn…" he cursed. He didn't want to intrude, but he needed to get to work as soon as he could. He could always go back to the Temple library and work from there, but he had to admit the dark and dusty halls weren't exactly as appealing as the bright and colored living room just three steps ahead of him.

He had to decide. Did he want to risk looking like a creep by using her house while she was gone, or did he risk a massive headache because of poorly lit study environment?

"Oh for fuck's sake…" he said as he walked to the table in the center of the living room. He set the book and Lanie's files on the wood surface then sat down. "I'm working for her after all."

He pulled the first file from the folder and delved into all the disgusting, creepy and revolting details of the most interesting contracts since he left Kaer Morhen.

* * *

 _Officially passed the 25k words mark. Halfway there!_


	7. Start At The Base

**Chapter 7 - Start At The Base**

There were a total of twenty seven certain murders attributed to the "monster", or as they had learned, the serial killer. All presented signs of mutilation all over the body but the face was left always intact. Turned out that the missing tongue, surgically removed, wasn't actually an evolution of the modus operandi, rather a rare but recorded occurrence. Five more victims had been further brutalized by the removal of the tongue, while a couple had missing ears, one had an eye plucked out with no traces of carrion birds or monsters doing so.

It was an additional act of violence perpetrated on an already devastated body.

That made him literally want to puke, and considering his line of work, Castle had a pretty strong stomach.

The alderman master book had little useful information. The modus operandi was pretty much the same, with minor differences possibly due to cross contamination of the crime scene with other monsters, or carrion animal that had tampered with the body.

It was a waste of time.

Lanie's notes were a little bit more useful, but nothing more than he already knew. It was time to hit the streets and ask around.

He was working for a contract after all and one of the first thing a Witcher does after taking on a contract is talk to the people living around the area the monster, or whatever, attacked. Official records were not helping him, maybe the peasants would.

Quickly, he tidied up the table, putting all the documents back in their files and piled them in a neat tower then arranged everything he might need in the future. He found a piece of parchment, an inkwell and a pen and wrote a small note to Beckett, telling her he was down around the Temple of Melitele asking questions and that he would be back in an hour.

He went downstairs, intentioned to clean up his belt and harness, so he could bring his gear with him, only to find them spotlessly clean, carefully laid on a table. Even the swords had been thoroughly cleaned and oiled and were now resting out of the scabbards to air dry. The leather harness and belt he had thought ruined by the sewage were actually perfectly clean, in pristine shape. They almost looked brand new, Kate had done a great job cleaning them.

Without wasting any more time, he clipped the belt at his waist and strapped the harness around his chest, so the heavy swords rested comfortably on his back. Finally feeling whole, with his gear close at hand, he walked out of the house, locked the door, and headed to Temple.

There, instead of entering from the side door and head straight to the library, he went in straight from the front door. There, a young girl, novice of the order that worshipped the goddess Melitele, welcomed him with a bright smile and the palest pair of eyes he had ever seen in a human. "Good morning, Master Witcher. How can I help you today?"

"Good morning Sister," he greeted. "I need to ask a couple of questions about the murders that have taken place in the city, as I've taken on the contract issued by the alderman to stop this monster."

She nodded and gestured him to walk down the aisle of the Temple. "Yes, I understand. Who do you want to talk to?"

"I've heard that many beggars and people in need often find their way to the Temple, I'd like to talk to them, they might have seen something."

"I understand. Why don't you talk to the head priestess before you do? I'm only a novice, I don't know if I can allow you to approach our guests just like this."

Castle nodded. "I see. If you can put me on the right track, I'll speak to the priestess and ask her permission to talk to your guests."

The girl led him down the aisle and to a small corridor opposite to the door that led to the library, into a part of the Temple he had never seen. It was a small maze of corridors, with priestesses toddling around and about, carrying kettles of food and fresh linen, probably for the _guests_ , afflicted by the plague, banished to a remote corner. The young novice then opened a door and let him in a cramped office where an older woman sat at a thick wooden desk, darkened by the years, was carefully preparing a potion. The bright red liquid bubbled in the alembic and the faint scent of celandine wafted in the room, along with the spicy smell of cheap vodka, definitely used as a potion base.

"Excuse the intermission but, White Gull would work a lot better as a base for a healing potion," he stated, out of habit.

The woman pushed the hem of the veil out of her line of sight and basically zapped him with a single glance. "If you want to kill the unfortunate soul that drinks that."

"You can dilute the concentrated potion with water. It would require administrations over time, but it would work."

She gave him a minute nod. "Possibly. Now… why are you here, Mister Castle? Our agreement offered you free access to the library, but you weren't supposed to disturb our work in the Temple."

"That's why I'm here. I took on a contract on behalf of the City of Vizima about the monsters that from time to time kills someone in the sewers, and I need to do some investigation."

"And I repeat my question, why are you here at the Temple of Melitele?"

"To ask questions. I don't intend to disturb the quiet of the Temple, but I've been told that many people take refuge in the Temple, people that often spend the night outside. I only want to ask them if they saw anything about that."

The priestess sat back on the chair and observed him with eyes veiled by the cloth of her headdress. "I don't like your kind."

Blunt and direct, devoid of feelings. Castle was used to that tone and had heard that sentence repeated at least a thousand times in his life.

"You and the majority of the population," he replied, just as blunt. "I don't like you either, but that doesn't mean I can't be civil."

"At least you're sincere. Rare quality, among you mutants."

"You've met the wrong type of mutants," he said, dryly. "So, can I go and ask questions? I'll try not to be too frightening."

"With those eyes, hair and swords, I doubt you'll be, but yes, you can go."

"And I thought the white hair gave me some charm, but thank you."

With that, he turned around and moved out of the study. He walked back to the main part of the Temple then into the smaller building where they had arranged a makeshift hospital. There were camp beds lined on the walls, with victims of the plague resting there, awaiting death. There was also a corner where healthy homeless people sitting around a table for a cup of warm herbal tea and a free meal.

To avoid scaring them, he took off his harness and left the swords by the door, then walked up to the table. "Mind if I sit down?"

The tablemates, six men and a woman, all emaciated, filthy and grim, looked up at him and shrugged their shoulders. "Whatever…" mumbled one.

Castle picked up a wobbly chair and sat with them. A novice came and asked him if he wanted something to eat, but he politely declined, asking only for a cup of water, which was promptly deposed in front of him.

"I don't want to disturb your meal, but I need to ask you a few question about the monster that from time to time abducts and kills someone."

One of the men, clearly a war veteran given the scars on his hands, face and the peg leg, stared at him as if he had asked for ten pounds of gold. "What for? Do you think any of us is involved?"

Castle shook his head. "Never in my life. You see, the City of Vizima issued a contract for that monster and I've taken it. I've looked for official sources but found little to nothing, I've visited the crime scenes and found something but now I'm looking for witnesses. Have any of you seen anything around the time of the disappearances?"

They shrugged their shoulders in unison, but one of the two women had a strange look in her veiled eyes, as if she was scared.

"Ma'am, is there anything you want to tell me?" he gently prodded.

The elderly beggar looked at him, straight in his catlike glowing eyes and sighed. "I… I think I saw something."

"Yeah, when you were drunk!" added the war veteran.

"Shut up. What do you think you saw?"

"Last week… I was outside the New Narakort Inn begging for a coin or two… I saw the merchant that died coming out of the tavern with a man."

"Do you remember anything about him?"

The woman toyed with the spoon. "He was big, really tall. Broad shoulders. A noble, or a rich merchant, something like that."

"Anything else?" he prodded. "Every detail is important." Then he fished in his pouch for a couple of orens.

The woman greedily grabbed the coins and put them in her pockets before the others could pawn them. "He had a slight Kaedweni accent, spoke like the priest of the Eternal Fire down the road, all about purifying the evil of magic from the world… I didn't see his face, he kept a black hood on his head."

"Hey!" interjected one of the men, one that lacked a hand. "I think I saw that guy… I think he's an envoy from Kaedwen."

Interesting. "What makes you think he is?"

"Sometimes I hang around the embassies. Ya know, stinkin' rich whoresons all around, they like when people see them being generous with the homeless and… There's this guy, big, broad shoulders… always dressed in black… you'd mistake him for a Nilfgaardian, if not for his accent, I often see him around the Redanian embassy."

"What wouldastikin' Kaedweni do with the Redanians?" asked the war veteran.

"It's the Eternal Fire thing… the priest does special things in there…"

It made sense. The Church Of Eternal Fire was deeply rooted in Redania and the ambassador had enough power and influence to request private services in the embassy, for him and his rich friends.

"So let's see… Tall man, hangs around the embassy. Rich, dresses in black and is a member of the Church, was seen leaving with the dead guy the night he disappeared," he repeated, looking at the poor people around him for confirmation. "Anything else?"

"Blue eyes," added the one with the crippled hand. "It's the only thing I could notice beneath the hood. Deep blue eyes. And dimpled chin."

And that was only the first top of his tour of questionings. He wondered what he would find at the inns and at the brothels. "Good. Thank you guys." He took some more coins and equally split them among them all. "Don't waste 'em on booze."

Castle stood up, grabbed his swords and headed out. Not that far from the Temple there was the inn where he had rented his room. It was worth a try, usually at that hour, right before noon, it wasn't too full and maybe he'd have the chance to talk to the owners and the waitress, usually overloaded at night, with dinner and the customers coming for a beer or two.

He'd also have the chance to go in his room and grab a notebook and take some annotations about what he had found out. It wasn't much, but it was more than when he had started, and he had started less than twelve hours ago.

Once in his room, he grabbed an inkwell, pen and a new notebook and wrote everything down, then went downstairs. There was only one customer at a table, eating a bowl of soup, far away from the bar, so Castle grabbed a stool and sat there. Soon, the innkeeper arrived. "What do you want?"

Ah, always nice and courteous towards him. "A pint of Champion." He placed some coins on the table in front of him, more than the price of his order. "And some information."

The man let out a noise that sounded like a rout as he spilled his beer. "'bout what?"

"The monster that killed the merchant the other day."

"Not much to say. Guards found the body in the sewers, guy was dead. Never seen him."

"Any regular customers among the other victims?"

The keeper placed the tankard in front of him. Some of the frothy foam spilled down the chipped glass. "My wife knows more. I'll send her down." Then disappeared in the back.

A few minutes later, his wife came out of the larder. "Master Witcher, my husband tells me you're asking questions about the monster. Why?"

Castle smiled. "There's a hefty contract on its capture or killing, it's been there for a while and it's time to do something about it."

"You sure you're not doing it for the coin? Never heard of kind-hearted Witchers," she teased him.

"The coin is a good incentive, yes, but I've heard this monster's been around for twenty years. It's not normal that an important city like Vizima can't have a monster hungry for human flesh at large. It's not safe."

"How nice. But tell me, what do you want to know?"

"Any customers among the dead? Any regulars that suddenly disappeared without a reason?" he asked, opening the notebook on a clean page.

"Regulars come and go, Mister Castle, often without a reason. But yes, three of our regular customers died because of the monster. One just before the first snow, last year," she explained. "A young woman, she was a tailor. Had a shop down the street."

"Sarah Miller?" He had read Lanie's file.

"Yes, her. She came down a couple of times a week with her husband. I was one of her regular customers, she used to make all our clothes and fix the linens for the inn."

 _Did a nice job at that,_ he thought, knowing perfectly well the state of disarray the linens of the inn versed in even when the woman was alive and working on them. "What happened?"

"One night, it was the end of summer, she came here, alone. She sat at the bar until a man I had never seen arrived, then they moved to a corner table and talked for a while."

Another unknown man. "What did he look like?"

She shook her head. "I didn't see him. He wore a black cape, pulled down so his face was hidden."

He wrote that down. "Had you ever seen him here?"

Another gesture of negation. "No, never. He was the kind of man you'd notice. Tall, well dressed… not the usual pile of rubbish dressed in rags that frequents the Hairy Bear."

Suddenly, the elderly woman that had always treated him humanely didn't seem so nice anymore, considering she was speaking to a loyal customer. He decided to let it go.

"Anything else?"

"He didn't speak, kept to himself," she explained. "When Sarah saw him she took her bowl of soup, her ale and joined him at the table. They talked for a long while, but I couldn't hear them, and then they walked out, together. He paid for her dinner, left the coins on the table. That's it. Never saw her again. A week later she turned up dead in the sewers."

He added that to his notes, blew on the ink to dry it faster and closed the ledger then the inkwell. "Thank you ma'am, I really appreciate your help."

"Anytime Master Witcher. But if you return tonight, the waitress, Marguerite, might know more. I remember she was continuously serving a group of mercenaries close to their table, she might have heard something more."

"Thank you again, I'll take care to ask her about it."

He gathered his belongings in a leather pouch he tied to his belt and exited the inn. The courtyard where the entrance of the inn opened was damp and smelled of stale manure and urine, so he hurried away from it. Passing by the local brothel, he tried his luck even there and knocked. Carmen, the owner, opened it and smiled brightly when she saw him. After all, he had fixed many issues on her behalf, mostly taking care violent customers never returned to bother her girls. "Richard, it's so good to see you!"

"Likewise Carmen," he replied, jovial, as she led him in. The institution wasn't open yet and she was in the middle of the daily cleaning of the place. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I took on a contract and I'm asking around. Do you or one of your girls know anything about the monster that killed that merchant last week?"

"Apart from the fact that business drops in the wake of each murder? Nothing, I'm sorry."

Not exactly the reply he wanted to hear, but he prodded her on.

"I've been told there's a weird man, always dressed in black with a heavy cowl over his eyes, that was seen with two of the victims. Appears to be a follower of the Church Of The Eternal Fire."

The redhead prostitute took the broom and went back to sweeping the floor. "That type of man never walks through the door. They see a whore and they curse her with their gibberish nonsense about purity and fire and what else. Sorry Rick, but I've never seen anyone that matches your description."

"I see… would you mind passing the word to the others?

"Of course, everything for our favourite monster slayer and occasional bouncer. You stay at the Hairy Bear?" He nodded. "I'll leave a message in case they remember something."

"Always the best, Carmen. Leave a message even if some customer gets a little too rough, alright?"

"Will do. Now go and catch the monster."

Once outside, he looked around and took a moment to think about what to do next. He had uncovered enough to go back to Beckett's place and report back. He still had to go asking questions around the rich quarters and other guards, but he had the whole afternoon for that.

As he walked back to the house, in the Trade quarter, he noticed a small group of men that barked curses and insults at someone. They had him flanked against the wall of the graveyard and they were continuously shoving him trying to make him fall on the muddy soil.

"Hey!" he called at them. "Stop hurting that man!"

The aggressors turned towards him and grunted. "The fuck do you want?"

"I told you, stop hurting that man!"

"And if we don't?" one of them sneered. "What d'yawanna do? Beat us? Four against one?"

Castle prepared to fight, quietly casting the protective shield around him. Just in case. "Been in worst situations. So? Are you going to stop or what?"

One of them lunged at him with a blackjack in hand. His movements were wide and slow and the Witcher had more than enough time to close in with him in order to avoid being hit and strike at the same time. With his left hand closed in a fist, he pushed his knuckles deep in the brute's elbow, so deep he pinched the man's nerve. The sudden shock forced him to drop the weapon, but most of all gave Castle enough time to punch the guy in the solar plexus. One single strike that sent him to the ground, breathless. Fast, precise, neat. Best result with the smallest effort.

"So?" asked the Witcher. "Anyone else?"

Apparently, no one wanted to fight. They left in a hurry, leaving their agonizing friend right there where he had fallen.

Castle looked at the guy they were threatening. "So? What have you done to piss them off?" he asked him. Because he knew that man very well, along with Geralt, he had saved his life multiple times.

"You know Richard… your brother usually beat the crap out of people," he groaned. "But I like your style more."

"Less blood to wash from my clothes. So? What brings you to Vizima, Dandelion?"

Dandelion, Geralt's best friend, world-renowned poet, travelling minstrel and Oxenfurt University lecturer, was known for the ease he threw himself in troubles. He was like a magnet for trouble and one of the reasons his brother often left a trail of dismembered limbs and broken bones.

"Money, of course. It makes the world go round, right?" he quipped, beating his clothes to clean them from the dust. "You? Annual meeting with Gina, I suppose. Did your last novel sell well?"

Castle shrugged. "Not bad, like the others. Sent in a new one too. You liked it?"

"Yeah, just as usual. You know I'm not too into that genre, but it was good. By the way, thank you for the help. Nice way to start the day."

"Dandelion, it's after noon."

The bard smirked. "Way too soon for my tastes, but I had a meeting with the chamberlain at court and…"

"You still haven't told me why those guys were showing not exactly kindness towards you."

"Oh yes, those… let's just say we played a little dice yesterday and I might have won most of their money and they wanted it back."

Castle, knowing perfectly well that the bard was an amazing creator of bullshit, crossed his arms and stared at him. He would go as low as using the Axii Sign to extort the truth from him, but he had other means.

"Oh all right, I stole the rest of the money they had when they passed out from too much drinking!"

The Witcher nodded. "Good to know. Now… I'm working on a contract, and I need to report back to the issuer. You're at the New Narakort?"

Dandelion nodded. "For now. I'm hoping the chamberlain will choose me for a month of parties Foltest is organizing for his daughter's birthday. That would mean I'd stay at court. You? Hairy Bear?"

"Just as usual. Come down with the plebs, have a beer or two."

"I'll see if I find the time. See you around Richard, it was good to see you."

Castle smiled. "I bet… See you, Dandelion, try not to get in trouble."

* * *

He found Kate in the living room, setting up a big corkboard against a window. "Hey, what are you doing?"

She jumped, definitely startled by his sudden appearance in her house. "Woah, sorry… Got me scared for a moment here. I'm setting up a murder board, since you retrieved Lanie's files and the alderman's book. It will help you visualize the pieces of evidence we gather."

"Uhm, never used one, though I've seen people using them for alchemical recipes. Nice idea though. By the way, I think I found a very interesting lead," he said, placing his ledger on the table, before her. "The last two victims have been seen leaving New Narakort Inn and the Hairy Bear Inn with a dark clad man wearing a heavy cowl on his head that made it impossible to recognize him. A beggar usually stationed outside the embassies says such a man is part of the Kaedweni envoy and a follower of the Eternal Fire."

"How did you even find this information?" she asked, flipping the pages of his ledger. "Nice handwriting!"

"Thanks, I need to make it readable for the publisher. Anyway, I just went out and asked things. Lanie gave me a couple of useful tips and I'm following them. I started with the beggars at the Temple, then moved to the Hairy Bear and talked to the innkeeper's wife," he explained. "Later I'll try at the New Narakort, since the last victim was renting a room there. And The Fox. I also asked Carmen to ask her girls if they knew anything."

She nodded. "Good idea, going to Carmen. I questioned her a couple of times on unrelated matters and every time she's always been extremely cooperative. Good businesswoman, that one!"

"Madames in brothels tend to be borderline geniuses when it comes to business," he replied, leaning against the table in front of the still empty murder board. "So? What do you want to do now?"

"I'm thinking about going down in the archive of the city guards and taking a good look at the Kaedweni embassy reports. Just to know who we're dealing with. The Kaedweni envoy isn't big, I might find a name quicker than you think."

"And if we can cross reference it with what I will find out. Also, the innkeeper's wife at the Hairy Bear told me to question their waitress tonight, she might know something more."

Beckett nodded, but remained silent for a moment. "Wow…" she then exclaimed. "In half a day you managed to uncover more than me in nearly ten years."

Castle shrugged. "You had a job and needed to keep a low profile. Also, I tend to think a little outside the box. You never thought of questioning the beggars, didn't you?"

"Nope. They are usually unreliable witnesses, so we tend to not question them. I'll change that from now on. How about we eat something then we go back to work?"

"Sounds great."

* * *

 _Author note: this might be the last chapter in a couple of weeks. First, Alex, my more than awesome betareader is in the US and I don't want her to bother about me and correct all my friggin' mistakes, so I don't know if she'll manage to correct the next chapter. I'll ask around for another beta reader until Alex comes back, but I don't know if I'll find anyone._

 _Second: next Friday I'll leave for Slovenia, to a place where there's no electricity, no running water, no gas pipes, NO INTERNET... it's basically you, your tent and a book. Am I going to live like Bear Grills for a week? No, just camping at MetalDays festival, in Tolmin. In fact there is electricity, internet and running water, but they don't come to your tent, so as much as I like being on the internet, I'll just forget about it for a week or so and just HAVE FUN and relax for a bit. Hence, no updates. Just wait for August._


	8. Of Redheads And The Eternal Fire

_I'm back! Sorry it took me so long to update but first I had eight days of MetalDays, then my dad underwent knee surgery to fix his leg and now needs a chaffeur so I'm always driving him around here and there, also Alex was in the US on her amazing trip, things got in my way. Anyway, here it is!_

 _Fans of Yennefer, please forgive me, but I seriously can't stand her. I'm TeamTriss, sorry._

* * *

 **Chapter 8 - Of Redheads And The Eternal Fire**

They split again, right after they ate a quick lunch. They worked more than well together, but if they split up, they'd cover more ground. While Beckett stormed the City Guard archives and plunged into tomes and tomes of records, Castle stormed the rest of the inns and the marketplace. Apparently, many people around town had seen the man they were looking for, but no one knew where to find him, or who he was.

He wasn't a regular at the New Narakort, the posh inn of Vizima, but he had been seen there many times through the years, the innkeeper and the staff had a vivid memory of the black clad man, always wearing a cowl over his eyes, who spoke little and never ordered anything alcoholic. Apparently, the owner of the inn was rather pissed off with the person because when he came in he brought such a grim atmosphere that people stopped drinking altogether after a while and he lost money.

At the Queen Of The Night, the high-end brothel for rich folks, no one had ever dealt with said man, though the girls had seen him around, mostly during important city celebrations. One of the prostitutes told him she once tried to approach him, considering he looked extremely wealthy by the quality of his clothes and the jewelry and she wanted to earn some money on the side. She said he shoved her away and barked the worst insults at her, to the point the crowd around them had to stop him, dragging him away from the poor girl as he was getting violent.

Apparently, he took the teachings of the Church Of Eternal Fire very seriously, down to the last comma.

Just the right type of man Castle loved to deal with. Most of the world population didn't actually see Witchers with a nice, kind eye, but those who followed the Church tended to be even more radical in their delirious fanaticism and were often violent towards him.

Once, he and Geralt had a not so nice encounter with a gang of fanatical cultists one night in Tretegor, many years before. They were still young, with little experience and they still tended to celebrate by drinking themselves into a stupor after every successful contract in shady holes where scuffles were rather common. They were in the middle of their impromptu partying when a pack of those idiots barged in and demanded to be served earlier than yesterday.

They hadn't noticed the pair of white haired Witchers in the darkest corner of the tavern, but once they were drunk enough, one of the men noticed Geralt's cat-like glowing eyes as he paid for their drinks. After that, all hell broke loose in the tiny dirty joint. They started shouting at them, then when Richard came to help his older brother against the barrage of insults, fists started flying and blood spurts landed on the walls.

The long past memory his brain had conjured made him smile, as Castle wrote down the last things he had learned just outside the brothel, leaning on a wall so the inkwell wouldn't spill. He and Geralt might be quite different as men, both in character and appearance, but no matter what, they always had each other's back, most of all when they were younger.

When he was done, he realized it was getting dark. All the questioning had taken up all afternoon and the sun was quickly going down behind the houses. "Time to report back." However, he didn't have much to tell. Maybe Beckett had been more fortunate with the archives.

He found her just outside her house, carrying a wooden chest. "Hey, need some help?"

She nodded and handed the chest to him. It was actually quite big and heavy. "Thanks Castle."

"Hey, you know I have a first name?"

"Yeah…" she puffed, out of breath. "It's just… I picked up the habit at work, sorry."

"Not that I don't like it," he explained. "It just sounds weird. Everyone calls me Rick, they barely bother with my full name, let alone the surname," he mused.

"I don't even think I've ever been called my full name outside official gatherings. My mother used to call me Katherine only when I was in trouble."

Castle chuckled. "I can't really picture you in trouble. You seem like such a nice girl!"

"I've had my wild child phase. Ask Triss about it, next time you see her. Or Yennefer." She opened the door and let him in, but he could barely walk as he was trying to suppress a sudden burst of laughter that threatened to make him topple and let the chest fall from his hold. "What?" she asked when she heard him giggling.

"I don't even want to think about a wild child phase that involves those two. No, seriously no… I just can't."

She shook her head, slightly amused. "You've been around those two quite a lot, am I right?"

He set the chest down on the table, beside the alderman's tome and Lanie's folders. "It happens, when one of them is madly in love with your brother but he has eyes and ears only for the other."

She squinted her eyes as she looked at him. "Do I detect a little bitterness in your voice?"

Castle looked down. It wasn't only a _little_ bitterness. It was a _bucket_ of bitterness! "Kind of…" he downplayed it. "It's just… I spent the past twenty years or so trying to convince Geralt that Yennefer wasn't exactly the woman of his dreams, that she treated him like crap most of the time and meanwhile Triss… She genuinely loved him, and he only had eyes for Yennefer, a woman that used and abused him all the time for her own profits, often leaving him with nothing but a broken heart. Triss suffered a lot, watching him hurt so bad for a woman that gave him only a fraction of the affection he showed her and… well, I care a lot for her, she's my friend and I hated to see her suffer like that just because my own brother was stupid enough to unwittingly create a bond between himself and Yennefer by using the last wish of a djinn that meanwhile was tearing Rinde apart!"

Kate sighed. "I see your point. So, you don't think your brother's feelings for Yennefer were genuine?"

He shook his head. "Not a bit. I think the magical bond between them was tearing them apart, one piece at a time, and they were both too stubborn, or simply stupid to go look for a way to break the curse. Geralt would move mountains and dry up oceans for Yennefer, and he often did something very close to that, but her? What did she do for him for all those years they were together, on and off?"

"She helped him raise Cirilla. They did a damn fine job at that too."

He groaned, clearly angry about it. "I did most of the job. They all came to me, when they needed help. Yes, they were like a father and a mother to her, surely more than Emhyr and Pavetta ever were for obvious reasons…" Pavetta had died in a shipwreck when Ciri was nothing more than a toddler and Emhyr had the throne of Nilfgaard to reclaim, he didn't have time to be a father. "But they always came to me! Because I have a slightly older daughter and I knew what to do!"

Beckett's perfectly styled eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Excuse me? You have a daughter?"

He pulled a chair away from the table and sat down. "Yeah well… technically she's not mine. I adopted her… It's a long story; I don't want to bore you to death."

She sat in front of him. "We've been working all day long and I'm kind of tired, but it's still early for dinner. Just tell me that story, I'd like to know you better."

Castle took a deep breath. "Alright. You see… my mother was a minstrel when she was alive. A damn good one. One night, she stopped at an inn and offered her services as an entertainer in exchange for food and a place to sleep and the innkeeper gladly accepted. After all, there weren't many innkeepers brave enough to refuse a performance by the world renowned Martha Rogers in exchange for some food and clean bed, she didn't ask for much at the time. Only, the same night my father was staying at the same inn. He was a mercenary and a damn womanizer and well… she fell for his curtseys. After all, she was pretty young at her time, she had reached her fame quite early... She got pregnant with me, but had no means to care for me and when I was born, a druidess that was taking care of her told her that she could always give me up to the Witchers, like she had done just a couple of years before with her own son."

"Let me guess: the druidess was Geralt's mother."

He nodded. "Exactly. Visenna, contrary to my mom, rather forgot she had ever had a baby and Geralt grew up never hearing from her. My mother instead wrote me letters and I responded. We had a pretty tight correspondence and sometimes she dropped off at Kaer Morhen, bringing some jolly time in the otherwise grim place. Eskell once cried when he saw her approaching the fortress."

Beckett smiled. "Really? I can't imagine Eskell crying!"

Oh, so she knew him. He wondered how many other Witchers she was acquainted with. "Yes… we were… six or seven and we just had a fuckin' horrible day. Nothing was going right, we were training in mud and rain, it was cold… an utterly shitty day. She quietly made her way in the courtyard where we were training, covered head to boot in a thick cape to keep water and cold air away and waited until we stopped working before she let us know she was there. When Eskell saw her, he dropped his training sword and rushed to hug her, falling in a puddle of mud in the process."

"Must have been a relief, to see someone like her at the fortress."

"Yeah…" he replied, his voice filled with longing at the memories. "At the time Geralt and I didn't know we were stepbrothers and… he was a bit jealous of me. My mom was the only one that visited, the others… they knew the Trial Of The Grasses is often fatal, only four out of ten people make it, but my mother… she cared. And not only for me, for all of us. Even Vesemir liked her, she was the only outsider that was allowed inside, any time of the year. She came, taught us songs, told us stories… for a week or two she took away the boredom of studying all day and if it wasn't studying it was sword training… She was a bright light in a very dark sky. And Geralt, though with time he came to love her, was jealous."

"Did that hinder your relationship?"

Castle shrugged his shoulders. "We were nothing but tykes at the time. As we grew up, we grew closer and he forgot about the jealousy, he realized it was a bit stupid, everything considered."

"How did you and Geralt realize you were siblings?"

"When we were old enough to understand, Vesemir, our mentor, showed us a letter my mother and Visenna had wrote when I was sent to Kaer Morhen. They had exchanged some tales about the fathers of their babies and they quickly realized they were talking about the same ruggedly handsome mercenary that knew his way around women. That's it. However, deep down we already knew we were linked by something more than a childhood friendship and the comraderies that characterizes most of the Witchers of the same school. It was just the last piece of the puzzle."

"Alright, but after that? How did you end up adopting a child?"

"Well, fast forward many years, I underwent the Trial of the Grasses and passed it splendidly, along with Geralt. They did some more experiments on us and that resulted in the white hair, but we came out stronger than the average Witcher. It also partially gave me my blue eyes back." He pointed at the scythe shaped flash of blue in his irises, where Witchers usually had bright glowing yellow eyes. "Anyway, my mother grew old and couldn't travel anymore, so she settled in Oxenfurt and started teaching there. Ever heard of the bard Dandelion?"

Beckett smiled. "Who hasn't? He's here in Vizima, I saw him this morning."

"I know. I had to save him from a pack of brutes he has swindled last night. Anyway, my mother taught him pretty much all he knows about poetry and ballads. And in her class there was another girl, Meredith. She suffered the same fate as my mother and she basically took her under her wing as to protect her. Once I passed through Oxenfurt and went to see my mom and met Meredith. She had this beautiful baby girl, probably just days old, and I just… I fell in love. With both of them."

Again, his words tore a smile from the sorceress. "Never heard a Witcher speak the word _love_ before."

Castle chuckled at the remark. "Yeah well… contrary to popular belief, we have feelings. We're capable of the whole spectrum of feelings, we're just… better at hiding them?"

"Then Geralt is a champion at hiding his feelings."

"You never saw him after Yen broke up with him. Or when he finds out children are being hurt, somewhere, somehow. In the first case, he cries like a child. On the other… ever seen a dragon?" She nodded. "Well, he gets just as destructive. Anyway... For the next ten years I basically lived in Oxenfurt, taking local contracts so I wouldn't have to stay away for too long while Meredith worked full time as a performer at the theater there. However, it didn't work. She wanted more. She started travelling with a moving theater company and was gone for most of the year, and I made a living by teaching swordfight and that's when I started writing."

"You started because you had nothing better to do?"

"I had to bring food home, I had a ten year old baby girl to feed. For a long while I solely provided for the family and when Alexis was old enough to live by herself, she practically pushed me to start being a Witcher again. She lived at the university and worked at the morgue so she could afford the dorm room, while my books and contracts along with some money from Meredith paid for university. Now she's a lawyer."

She smiled. "You must be proud of her."

"She's the best thing that ever happened in my life. I don't care if she's biologically not mine, I'm the one she calls daddy. It's more than enough."

"You sound like my father."

"How?" he asked.

"He's incredibly proud of me, of what I'm doing and the way I manage to keep everything under control. When they found out I had a knack for learning magic, they soon sent me to the school in Vengerberg. I learned pretty much everything I know there, and when my mother was killed I renounced a very remunerative place at the court of Kovir to solve her murder and help my father recover from alcoholism."

"Can I ask you something extremely rude?"

By the gleeful look in her eyes, he knew she had guessed what he was going to ask. "Like how old I am? I'm 45."

Oh. She was much younger than he thought. Then again though, sorceress altered their looks in order to always look young and beautiful, though he had the feeling she had only stopped the effect of time on her skin. Many sorceresses were sent to the school in Vengerberg because they were malformed or maimed girls that no one wanted to deal with, and they learned how to alter the way people saw them pretty early during their studies. Signs of the previous defects remained, minor things that a trained and observant eye would easily pick up, though. Kate Beckett had none of such defects. "I thought you were older. I was going to ask you how come your father was still alive."

"My parents married young; I was born when my mother was eighteen. They managed to finish law school and become successful lawyers. My father is now an elderly gentleman that lives in a nice apartment just down the road, but he has already passed his prime. I'd really like to solve this murder before he dies though, at least he'd leave this world knowing who killed his beloved wife and why."

Castle tapped his fingers on the table, absentmindedly. "You know that sometimes there's no motive?" he asked her. "Sometimes it's only the work of a deranged mind. There might be a story behind it, but it might make no sense for us."

She shook her head. "No, I've been working in the city guard long enough that even when a deranged mind kills there's always a reason. It might be stupid and trivial, but there's always something that makes it happen. Something that makes that mind click and that starts the need to kill. And I'm starting to think it's religion based."

He leaned forward, curious. "Why?"

"When you mentioned the man in black this morning, from Kaedwen… I suddenly realized that at least six of the victims had expressed some degree of criticism against the Church Of Eternal Fire."

"Did your mother…"

She nodded, vehemently. "My mother was an atheist, but being from Redania, she kept an eye what happened there. The Church Of Eternal Fire started there, then quickly expanded to most of the Northern Kingdoms, but she thought it was too strict a religion, that it smothered freethinking and was too intrusive of its followers' private life. And she was kind of vocal against it."

"The others?"

"One of the victims was a priestess of Melitele, she died shortly after the Order Of The Flaming Rose arrived. Then there was a druid from the Circle just outside of Vizima, in the Swamps. A city officer that basically thought the same as my mother and from what I learned on our last victim, our dear merchant was a vehement opposer of the Church back in Redania."

"That's no coincidence Beckett. I've been told that one of the girls from the Queen Of The Night has been harassed by this man one day as she tried to approach him. He said that she should burn at the stake for trying to corrupt a pious man like him, that she was the scum of society and the like."

"Don't followers of the Eternal Fire despise monsters though?" she asked.

"Usually, yes. But this man… he's probably trying not to get caught. What's the best way? Blame the monster, so the Witcher comes, kills the monster and he only needs to capture another one. Lesser monsters like Drowners, Fleders and Ekkimaras are easy to catch and keep alive with little food. Lesser vampires also hibernate when they don't receive enough nourishment and wake up and the slightest smell of blood, ready to eat their fill."

"Alright. Come on, Espo and Ryan should have already finished their shift, let's go down to the Hairy Bear for dinner."

He smiled. "I think it's a great idea. We'll start working again tomorrow, alright?"

"You will work tomorrow on this, at least until late afternoon. I have the day shift."

"Oh… alright. I'll go ask around the Church then. But let's go down to the inn. I'm starving and I think Dandelion will join us later."

"...And then there was this body, half decomposed, belly swollen with gas and this young intern, so sure of his degree with fresh ink still on the parchment, approaching with a sharp scalpel…" Lanie was telling a hell of a horrific story as they shared a drink later that night. Castle was prepared to laugh hysterically, he knew perfectly well where that story was going. "And I tell him; pay attention, that's not fat, it's gas! And he goes: you're a woman, you know nothing of human anatomy! Then starts the Y incision. As soon as he cuts into the belly, the gas explodes, sending tiny bits of guts everywhere in a radius of three meters, along with everything that man had eaten before he died. That guy never touched a corpse again."

Hilarity ensued, just as he expected. "Oh man…" said Castle, still laughing like a mad man. "Reminds me of the first time I faced a rotfiend…" he started. "I had been out of school for less than a year and I found this contract and well… you see, rotfiends explode when they're about to die. Pretty much like the corpse you spoke of, only they release acid along with what they just ate and their guts."

The medical examiner made a disgusted smirk. "A powerful acid?"

"Not much, but it landed square into my eyes. I had to blindly cut the head of the monster and then walk back to the village. Needless to say the money from the contract was spent at the inn because I couldn't travel if I couldn't see."

"You know…" a bright, loud and slightly slurred voice interrupted him. "Something similar happened to your brother!"

It was Dandelion. He had finally decided to appear at the Hairy Bear, already intoxicated. By the stupefied smile on his face he had gotten the contract and he was spending a little more than the usual on drinks, as he already had a pint of ale in one hand.

"Hey there, nice to see you down here with the plebs!" joked Castle as he slid a bit closer to Kate on the bench so he'd leave some space for the poet to sit. "Guys, this is Master Dandelion, world renowned poet and the scourge of every father of a virgin girl."

"What a way to introduce me to your new friends, Rick. Yet, you speak no lies. Nice to meet you gentlemen. And ladies." He threw a flirty smile to Kate and Lanie. Damn that bard was worse than Geralt with women.

"Nice to meet you too," replied Ryan. "What brings you here to Vizima?"

"Your king has called for a month of festivities for his daughter-bar-sister birthday. Doesn't that sound a bit fucked up?"

Lanie smirked. "Just a bit? Our gracious king raped and knocked up his own sister, and that poor creature turned into a striga… Not exactly the nicest situation, considering that girl is technically the heir to the throne of Temeria and you know how flighty that girl can be."

Castle nodded. "Who do you think designed the plan to end the curse of the striga?"

Beckett turned towards him. "You?"

"Hell yeah it was me. I told you, Geralt's good with what is out of the ordinary. Ending the curse of a striga? Way too normal, he didn't even remember what to do, I had to help him devise a plan, he was lucky I was in town."

"Did you have to help him often?" asked Esposito. The Witcher had come clean with them pretty early that night, he had willingly revealed he was Geralt's younger brother. They didn't know him, but he was pretty famous in Vizima because he had managed to lift the curse from Adda, Foltest's daughter and basically defy the rules of the world. Adda was conceived out of rape, incestuous rape, and was stillborn. It was a deadly combination that would surely turn the poor creature into a monster, be it a botchling or a striga, as it had happened, or something worse. He wasn't even sure how the hell that girl could still be alive.

Castle shrugged his shoulders. "Not that often, not to that extent I mean. He often asked for some advice when we were travelling together, but it was mutual. I'm an expert on curses and the ordinary, I often asked for his help when I found something that I didn't know as well as he did. We helped each other a lot, when he was alive."

"You two were the scourge of monsters, when you worked together," added Dandelion. "If only Zoltan was here…"

"Zoltan?" asked Ryan.

"Zoltan Chivay, one of the toughest whoresons I've ever met," replied the poet. "Last time I saw him was when Geralt died. How long ago?"

"Five years ago," answered Castle, hiding the bitter tone of his voice in the tankard. "The pogroms in Rivia."

"Yeah… I remember. Oh well… Anyway, how's your contract going?"

Castle threw a quick glance at Beckett, and she gave him a barely perceivable nod. "Not bad. I've got a lead I'll look into tomorrow morning. I was too hungry to do it tonight."

In that moment, the door of the inn burst and a group of men, clad in red and black gambesons, heavily armed and by the look of their faces, not entirely happy. Soldiers of the Order Of The Flaming Rose, given the elaborated embroidery on the front of their uniform.

The bustle inside the crowded inn suddenly stopped as every customer turned to look at the newcomers with fear and deference. The group was composed of six men and they didn't look happy. As if they knew where to look, they circled a table where three elves were cowering over their tankards trying to hide. To Castle, their intention waspretty clear. Those whoresons followers of the Church Of Eternal Fire were looking for a fight and they had already picked their victims. Outnumbered and unarmed, the elves tried not to attract their attention, but they were failing completely. The thugs, because there was no other word to describe them, as they were not soldiers, had already decided they were going to hurt them. Or worse.

The Witcher growled, the low rumble reverberated in his chest and against the table he was leaning on. He felt someone touching his shoulder and turned to find Kate grasping his shirt as if to stop him from doing something, shaking her head. He looked up and found his right hand already wrapped around the hilt of his steel sword. "Don't…" she whispered. "It's no use."

"But… you're city guards!" he exclaimed, appalled by their lack of action. "You should protect your citizens!"

"Yes, we should," replied Esposito. "But those idiots of the Order surpass our authority. Two months ago our Captain was killed because he had tried to stop one of the Order from killing a young she-elf that had done nothing but spill some water on the gravel in front of the Eternal Fire temple. And it was useless because the soldier killed the girl all the same."

The guard's words did nothing but make Castle more furious than he already was. "Damn…" he growled. He looked at the group of harmed soldier and saw that they were already harassing the poor elves. "Are they really so powerful that they can murder the captain of the guard and not be punished for it?"

Lanie nodded. "They took over pretty much everything that's not petty theft, drunken brawls outside inns and unregulated prostitution. High profile crimes are under their jurisdiction."

That confused and angered Castle even more. "But those murders? You're still investigating on them, right?"

Ryan shrugged. "They're not considered high profile crimes. Witchcraft and anything related to magic is considered high profile, same goes for the regulation of the non-human population. That's what they do. And it's not like we're overcome with crimes, Vizima is pretty calm, everything considered."

Grunting, Castle moved his fingers beneath the table and cast a protective shield on the three elves. Just in case. It was invisible, so the soldiers couldn't see it, it would protect the small group, as long as they didn't separate, for two, maybe three blows, more than enough time for him to rush at their side and protect them.

"I hate the Eternal Fire…" he stated then, before taking a long swig of his ale.

"Me too," added Beckett. "You see now why I don't boast about being a sorceress?"

Eyebrow arched in a questioning look, Castle pointed at her colleagues and the medical examiner. "And they know?"

The trio nodded. "We're her friends, of course we know!" replied Lanie.

There was a loud bang in the otherwise pretty silent inn. Castle looked to his left and saw one of the soldiers stunned, looking at his sword now stuck in the ceiling. He chuckled.

"What have you done?" whispered Beckett.

"Quen can be cast on a third party, not only on the caster. I was almost sure they'd attack the elves, I protected them."

"What kind of sorcery is this?" screamed the raging soldier. He grabbed the hem of the tunic of one of the elves and pulled him to his feet. "What have you done? Are you one of those filthy magicians?"

The elf, scared to the point he was shivering, shook his head. "No sir…" he pleaded. "I'm not a magician, I'm just a dock worker!"

"A dock worker uh? Show me your work permit then!"

"I…" the elf cried as the soldier pinched his skin as he tightened the grip on his tunic. "I don't have it here… I'm off duty, I left it at home!"

"Uh, so you're out of your slum with no means to identify you?" The elf nodded. "And you performed some kind of magic trick too! You know that I have all the rights to kill you, here and now?"

The soldier reached at his belt and pulled a knife from a hidden sheath and raised the steel blade above the elf's head, intended to strike between his neck and clavicle apparently.

Out of nowhere though, a second throwing knife embedded itself in the back of the soldier's hand, forcing him to drop the knife and let the elf go, screaming bloody murder and holding his now pierced hand. One of his companions, overcoming the state of astonishment that had glued them to the floor, walked towards the wounded man and pulled the knife away.

Castle heard Lanie take a soft but audible intake of air. "Wrong idea."

The Witcher briefly smiled, readying a second knife in case of necessity.

"Who did that?" asked the second soldier, brandishing the throwing knife as if it was a burning torch. "Who's the whoresons that dared to throw this knife?" His voice echoed like a thunder in the crowded space.

At the question, Castle stood up and crossed his arms at his chest, to hide the second throwing knife. "It was me. But my mother wasn't a whore."

The man swallowed hard, visibly shocked by finding a Witcher in his path. "How dare you? Do you even know who we are?"

"Racist pricks with no taste for clothes?"

The unexpected joke made the crowd around them burst in a hysterical laugh, while the soldiers suddenly became all red with rage. "How dare you?" repeated a third soldier of the Order, with a slightly nasal and high-pitched voice.

"Well…" started Castle. "I've been here for a couple of hours and the only thing those elves did was drink their beers and mind their own business. So? Why do you harass them?"

"They are elves, they never mind their own business. Maybe they'd been talking about organizing a raid with the Scoia'tel!"

The elves looked up at the soldiers, shaking their heads vehemently, then they looked at the Witcher, their eyes pleading for help. "You want to know what they talked about? The one with short hair… his wife is having a baby! That's why they're here! To celebrate!" With his fine hearing, Castle had heard parts of their conversation and they had talked about babies and pregnancy since they had set foot in there.

"Could be a code for an incoming shipment of weapons," declared the wounded soldier.

"Oh come on, how could you be so freaking obtuse!" snapped Castle.

"Now listen you mutant freak, you have no jurisdiction here, you can't do anything!" shouted again the wounded soldier. "Go in the swamps and kill stinkin' drowners or whatever monster you like!"

Castle chuckled. "Yes, I could go back to swamps and kill drowners, but then they'd have to cut your fuckin' wage because they'd have to pay me! And by the way, yes, I could go back to kill monsters too, but then I'd have to kill all of you, because the only monsters I see in here are you..."

The last sentence, spoken in a voice that was more a growl than a voice, clearly scared the soldiers. He might have been outnumbered, but Witchers were master swordsmen, better trained than a group of raging paranoids that blindly followed a sectarian and racist religion, they knew they'd lose the fight, and probably end up crippled, or dead.

But they weren't smart. The healthy soldiers pulled their swords out of their scabbard. "You want to kill us?" one of them taunted him. "Come and get us."

"Castle don't…" snapped Beckett behind him.

"Don't worry, I'm not even pulling out the sword until they come here," he whispered to her and the other off duty guards behind him.

"You chicken, Witcher?"

Then, Castle waved his fingers and the trousers of one of the soldiers caught fire, right on his butt. He screamed, panicking as he tried to extinguish the fire on the magically ignited canvass, and needless to say, all hell broke loose in the small inn.


	9. Fists Of Fury

**Chapter 9 - Fists Of Fury**

The formerly filthy but otherwise tidy inn was now an open ring. Tankards got smashed over heads, plates were thrown and crashed on the walls, sometimes still with half eaten portions of stewed beef on them, cutlery was used as improvised weapons.

And in the middle of that, five heavily armed soldiers fought against a single brave fighter, who purposely fought with only his bare hands against those who only sought to bring discord to the world.

Castle was pretty sure Dandelion was already composing a ballad about that situation. With better words of course, he knew his own abilities at poetry sucked hard compared to the master bard, but he was sure he was already composing in his mind, as he comfortably rested in one of the inn protected by Beckett, Ryan and Esposito. As guards, even in off duty, they were obliged to protect those who weren't participating the inn-wide brawl, and in that moment, only Dandelion wasn't fighting. So they stood there, guarding him, pushing back any assailant.

As he fought.

Not a tough fight, he had to say. Those _soldiers_ were poorly trained and brandished their swords the same way a child uses a stick to play with other children. He quickly disposed of two of them, by simply applying the first hand-to-hand combat technique he had been taught back at Kaer Morhen: kick to the shins, fist to the nose and one quick push to the shoulders so they fell with their back against a chair, stunned and unable to get up for at least then minutes.

More than enough to finish the rest off.

The three remaining men were more dangerous and he paid more attention to them. He even considered the idea of unsheathing his own sword for the occasion, but that would be considered a crime. He had no intention to spend the night in a dank cell just because three idiots were stupid enough to try and kill a Witcher.

"You're going to pay, freak!" yelled the one he had hit with the throwing knife, as he held his bleeding hand. "Tonight you'll die, and the world will be cleansed when we'll burn your corpse!"

"The only cleansing you'll be doing will be mopping up the floor of the inn when I'm done with you," snapped Castle in reply.

"We'll see about that!"

One of them charged. He held his sword high, more like an ax than a sword. That gave Castle all the time to dodge, stepping aside, and grab the assailant by the armed hand. Twisting it, he forced the man to drop the weapon, but Castle didn't stop. He kept turning his arm to an unnatural angle and the man followed so the arm wouldn't break, into what turned out to be a devastating flip that landed him heavily on one of the tables. The considerable weight broke the wooden piece of furniture, and the heavy fall stunned the soldier to the point they couldn't stand for a long while.

But as he dealt with him, the other two flanked him and grabbed each an arm, effectively trapping him. "Fuck…" he cursed as one of them grabbed him by the hair and forced his head back and exposed his neck to a knife.

The wounded one, evidently the boss in the small group, was holding that knife. Smiling.

"Well well… what do you want to do now?" The thick Temerian accent made Castle sick, he hated the way they drawled the words when speaking. "What's going on in your mutant head?"

"What's going on in my head?" he repeated, spiteful. "I'll show you what's going on in my head…"

Using his assailants as leverage, he drew his knees to his chest then kicked the man with the knife with both legs, then used the momentum to continue the circular motion and flip backwards. That also allowed him to twist himself out of his captor's hold.

That left them all unsure of what to do while he knew perfectly well what he was going to do. He grabbed the heads of those that had trapped him and pushed so hard and fast that they crashed against each other forehead. Beneath the noises around them, he heard perfectly well the sickening sound of their skulls cracking beneath the crushing pressure of the impact.

They fell on the floor, unconscious.

That left only the boss, who was now trying to recover from a kick hard enough that it had probably broke his sternum. Like the worm he was, he crawled away from the Witcher, scared to death as he walked closer, hands closed tight in fists of steel.

"Now you saw what I had in my mind, but now I want to know what's lurking in yours."

The Temerian soldier spit at him, a thick phlegmatic spit with traces of blood and soot, staining his dusty white shirt. "I won't speak to you, mutant!" Then he spit again, causing another stain.

"You know," sighed Castle. "This shirt was kindly lent to him by a very nice woman that saved my life just this morning. And you you've stained it. I've killed for less, you know that?"

"Then kill me, freak. I'll die a martyr for a new, cleansed world!"

Shaking his head, Castle simply kicked him right in the groin. He chuckled, as the man at his feet howled in pain. One testicle had surely burst, the other would be badly bruised by morning. Not to mention his cock. He would probably never have a decent hard on in his life, let alone sire children.

"You won't die, not today at least. But your line ends with you."

The brawl around him was still raging in full force. A glass bottle was thrown at him, and he caught it mid-air just an inch from his left ear. He saw a chair flying, a couple more tankards followed it. A thug, fuelled by alcohol and adrenaline, launched against him with a hunting knife, not unlike the one that hung from Castle's belt. The Witcher expertly dodged him but the large man was faster than he had predicted and couldn't avoid the sudden slash of the knife. He felt the blade sting as it cut through the now completely ruined shirt and the skin of right side.

"Damn, another ruined shirt!" he cursed as he threw a devastating hook to the man's temple, leaving him instantly unconscious on the ground, grunting in pain.

Still not willing to draw his sword but in desperate need to stop the massacre of pottery and skulls that was taking place in front of him, because _of_ him, he made his way towards the middle of the inn, where a large mass of tangled, fighting limbs was occupying the space where once the dice tournaments were held. He threw himself in, with more strength that necessary, and started pulling the fighters away, one by one. One fierce look from his glowing, brazing stare in their eyes and they cowered, most of them rushed out of the inn to safety, away from the freak.

In the midst of it, Castle couldn't help but overhear a quite amusing conversation between Esposito, Beckett and Dandelion.

"Shouldn't we help him or something?" asked the dark skinned man.

"What for? He's in his element!" quipped the poet, evidently amused by the show in front of him. "And I wouldn't miss witnessing the White Dragon in a fistfight for nothing in the world."

"The White Dragon? The one from your ballads?" it was Beckett's turn to be surprised. "You mean the White Dragon is Castle?"

"Of course it's him! The Dragon And The Wolf was written about them, Richard Castle and Geralt Of Rivia, the most amazing team of Witchers that ever walked the continent!" he explained. "Who did you think he were?"

Beckett's reply was lost when a woman shrieked, loud enough that the whole raging scuffle come to a sudden halt. It was the innkeeper's wife, she had screamed when his husband had been pulled out of the commotion with the hilt of a dagger sticking from his thigh. He had hopped behind the counter and was now holding what looked like a rudimental exploding device, a lit torch in his other hand.

He was ready to risk and set the whole place on fire to stop the fight.

"Get the fuck out and take your wounded with you," he shouted. "Or I'll have y'all skinned alive after I blow your cocks up!"

The threat was more than enough. The pile of men dissolved quickly and almost everyone grabbed someone that wasn't able to walk and dragged them out, while Castle and some others remained. Either they weren't much scared by the crude bomb in the innkeeper's hand, or like Castle they knew that kind of bomb could barely make a loud pop, let alone cause an explosion. It _could_ set dry wood, paper and other flammable things on fire though, and that was definitely a possibility, given the amount of vodka and spirits that had been poured over the floor and the furniture.

"And you…" The innkeeper's voice felt like steel grating against stone, so angry he was, as he spoke to Castle. "You, freak… leave. Now, before I flay you. And if you dare to come back, I'm going to kill you myself!"

Castle looked at the overweight man, not intentioned to show any sign of cowardice in front of the vile man that, year after year, had treated him like he was a flea-ridden, rabid mutt. He wiped the mix of dirt, sweat and blood from his face with the back of his hand and nodded, before walking upstairs to fetch his things. On his way up, he took a bottle of Mahakam spirit from behind the counter, pulled the cork out with his teeth and never breaking eye contact with the innkeeper, drank a long swig from it. "With pleasure, sir."

The silence around them as he left the main room was deafening.

Once upstairs, he shut the door of his room and cursed loudly in elvish as he tore the ruined, borrowed shirt off his body and looked down at the wound on his side. It wasn't deep, certainly not as deep as a monster's bite, but it was large and blood was oozing freely from it, seeping into the cloth of his black pants and staining the leather of his belt. He quickly took both the harness that held his swords on his back and the belt off, before pushing the hem of his pants down to see if the knife had cut into them too. Luckily, only the shirt had been ruined. He used it, now reduced to a bloody scrap of cloth, to pad the wound as he looked through his satchels for something to stop the bleeding.

He lay some clean gauze, a vial of disinfectant solution and adhesive bandage so he could fix the wound.

He bit his tongue not to moan in pain when he washed away most of the blood with the strong alcoholic spirit, just as the door of the room he would soon vacate opened. He looked up. "Beckett what are you doing here?"

The sorceress rolled her eyes. "Helping you, of course." She extended her hand towards the bottle of spirit, and he passed it over. "You weren't thinking of medicating it yourself, were you?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "That's what I usually do."

Beckett groaned. "Yeah well, the scars on your body clearly show it. Let me have a look." She moved his hand so it wouldn't press on the gash. When she saw the laceration, she nodded. "You need stitches."

"I don't need stitches, I just need some celandine and white parsley brew, and some sleep."

"You need all of them, idiot. You have the brew?" she asked. He nodded towards the bed. "Good. Sewing kit?" Defeated, Castle nodded again, and gestured to look in his backpack. She found the small pouch almost instantly, pulled out needle and thread. She imbibed them in the disinfectant and then started sewing the wound.

"Couldn't you just whisper some enchanted formula and heal it?" asked Castle at some point, evidently uncomfortable.

Beckett shook her head as she dabbed more antiseptic on the wound. "You know perfectly well it doesn't work that way. As much as I am a skilled healer, I can't just snap my finger and close the wound, magically. You know that."

The Witcher sighed, barely holding back a startled jump when the needle passed again through the strips of skin at the edge of the wound as she applied another stitch. "Yeah, I know…" he murmured, defeated.

"You could always take one of your potions, you know, if you have one at hand."

"Nah, thank you. As useful as they are, I prefer stitching to drinking any of them. First they taste awful, second they're toxic."

"I'm aware of that. It's the price of magic, Castle."

He shrugged. "Whatever."

She kept working in silence for a while, sewing more stitches into his skin. She was doing pretty neat work, from what he could see. Once healed, it would barely leave a scar, he was sure of that.

Then she spoke. "Where are you going to stay tonight?" she asked, cutting another piece of thread.

"Don't know. I'll find a place," he explained. "Vizima's is full of dark corners where one can sleep in peace."

The sorceress looked up, an appalled look distorting her beautiful face. "No way I'll let you sleep outside with an open wound!" she nearly screamed.

"You're closing it. It won't be open anymore by the time I find a place to stay. The tomorrow I'll see if the New Narakort has a room, or The Fox. I'll find a place to stay." He sighed. "I always do."

"You can always stay at my place," she proposed.

He shook his head. "No Beckett, you're already doing too much. First the change of clothes that I ruined by getting myself in a fistfight, then this… I can't accept it."

"For all that I care for those clothes… they were my ex's, I don't even know why I kept them."

Oh.

She had given him her ex's clothes.

"Maybe you wanted to get rid of them."

"Nah, I simply thought that sometimes having a change of clothes for a man can't hurt. Thing is, William wasn't even nearly as tall as you are, the pants must be a tad too short and I don't think you find them very comfortable."

"They're a little tight, in places," he explained, not revealing that he found the trousers extremely uncomfortable to wear, most of all around the crotch, out of courtesy. "And yes, they're short, but the boots hide that piece of calves the pants can't cover. I'm fine with that."

She sighed. "Anyway, they're ruined. But I'm serious about letting you stay at my place. The couch in my study is comfortable enough."

"I don't want to impose."

"Castle, you're helping me solving my mother's murder and in a day you did more than I could in ten years. You're not imposing. And before you complain about the fact that I'm paying you, believe me, I can afford your fee and I can afford to let you sleep on the couch."

She was determined to let him sleep at her house, apparently. He sighed and slouched his shoulders, defeated. "Alright, but only until I find another place."

"Deal. And by the way, thank you for standing up for those elves."

He chuckled. "It was nothing, really. I do that often enough."

"Yeah, but I know your brother died in front of you doing the same. One would think you'd stop doing it, considering it only got Geralt a pitchfork in the gut."

That tore a half smile from him. "And it got me this." He pointed at a large jagged scar on his back, not far from where he had been wounded minutes before. "Battleaxe. Nearly tore my liver off."

"You healed pretty well, scar excluded."

"Triss managed to stop the bleeding right away, kept the wound in a sort of stasis that allowed Dandelion and Zoltan to drag me away from the mob that was lynching non-humans, after they had killed Geralt and Yennefer. As they pulled me away, I saw Triss conjuring a huge hailstorm to disperse the crowd, then… black. For eight days, I was unconscious. And when I woke up, they didn't think I was strong enough to handle Geralt's death and the disappearance of his body. They told me only a month later, that the body was nowhere to be found."

"Must have been a hell of a hard time."

"Yeah, it was. But hey, the show must go on, right? In the end, no Witcher dies in his bed, unless someone kills him there so… he died doing something he believed in after all."

She nodded, pulled the thread and cut it close to the knot of the stitch. "Almost done here." She washed the wound with some more liquor and applied one of the adhesive gauzes he had. "Hey, what do you use for the glue?"

"Pine resin mixed with honey. Then I used waxed paper to keep the glue on the gauze and use it when needed."

"Uh, nice idea." She pressed on the adhesive part to make it stick to his now clean skin. "There you go, I'll take the stitches out in a couple of days, it should be enough for you to heal. I mean, you're a Witcher, you heal faster that a normal human being."

"Perks of being a mutant. Now, let me grab my stuff. I don't want to stay in this flea-ridden hole one moment more."

Hurriedly, he pushed all his belongings in the backpack, buckled his belt and harness back on and after making sure he had taken everything, they walked downstairs. Esposito, Ryan and Lanie were helping the wounded, while Dandelion tried to haggle with the innkeeper to allow Castle to return, if he paid for the damages.

He noticed that the inn lay in a worse state than he had imagined. Most of the tables and the chairs were broken, there were shards of shattered glass and pottery everywhere, stains of blood and signs of burning on the walls. Part of the soiled tapestry that hanged from the walls were torn or cut or damaged in some other way. It hadn't been a normal tavern brawl, it had been a massacre.

And it was his fault.

"It's not worth it Julian," said the Witcher as he pulled his money pouch from his belt. He dug out some coins, a considerable sum, and placed them on the counter. "Here, for the damages and the clean up. Keep the deposit for the room. Goodbye."

He walked out of the inn, closely followed by the bard, the sorceress and the rest of the small gang. "You know I hate it when you call me Julian?" asked Dandelion.

It was his real name. Dandelion was only a nom de plume, a pseudonym that helped him stay away from his noble origins so he would not be regarded as the usual rich spoiled brat that could afford to live off his father's money while he pursued a career of debauchery on the road to perdition, masked as a bard. He hated when Castle called him by his first name.

"All too well. That's why I call you like that, from time to time. Now… go back to your room and sleep tight. I assume you have a new ballad to compose, I wouldn't want you to lose your beauty sleep on my account."

The bard smiled, smug. "You can bet I have a new ballad to compose. It will be my showpiece for Foltest's court! So, Richard, where to you plan to stay?"

"Kate here offered her couch. It's more than enough for me."

Dandelion raised an eyebrow, inquisitive. "Oh, so now the damsel is offering her couch… I see something coming on that way…" he told him, quite allusive.

"Stop right there, there's nothing coming on from any way. She's just kind enough to help a Witcher in distress, that's all. And she's not a damsel, she's a tough one."

The poet shrugged his shoulders. "If you say so… but let me tell you, she's a fierce one. The way she handled that sword, trying to protect me? Exceptional. She might be worth trying to seduce just to see if she's just as fierce in bed."

Castle was about to punch him just to make him shut up. He hoped that Kate hadn't heard the ramblings of the intoxicated womanizer because otherwise he'd seriously punch Dandelion.

"Shut the fuck up, alright? I'm sorry I called you Julian, now would you please stop being so ploughin' embarrassing all the ploughin' time?"

Dandelion raised his hands and took a step back. "Alright alright, I give up. Now, please, would you at least do something to make her know you're actually attracted to her? Because, really… she's attracted to you."

"You poets and bards, always seeing romance when there's nothing…" murmured Castle. "Go back at the Narakort. I'll see you around."

Beckett then said goodbye to Esposito, Ryan and Lanie, before walking up to the pair. "You ready to go?"

Castle nodded. "Yes. I was just wishing Dandelion sweet dreams for tonight."

They walked, silently, to her place. As they moved through the mostly silent streets, Castle noticed some tension in her shoulders and neck. Her heartbeat was slightly accelerated and her steps were heavier, she was almost stomping as she walked on the gravel-covered roads. And in the dimly lit night, he could clearly see deep creases in her forehead.

"You alright?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Sure, why do you ask?"

"You're tense," he stated. "And before you try to tell me I'm wrong, don't even try it. I can see it written on your face and on the way you're hunching your shoulders. What's up?"

Beckett took a deep breath. "I don't know. I just feel like this is getting out of hand," she revealed, her voice carrying a tone of defeat he didn't like too much.

"If you mean I need to stop putting up fights I can…"

She shook her head. "No, it wasn't the bar fight, it's just… I've been trying to catch my mom's killer for ten years, I nearly gave up my training to find that bastard with no leads and then you come into the picture and suddenly you find lead after lead. In less than twelve hours. It's a lot to take in, that's all."

Gently touching her elbow, Castle made her stop in her tracks. "If there's something I can do to help…"

"Just help me kill that bastard. Too much blood has been spilled already, we don't need more victims."

He nodded. "That I can do, but that may take some time. Is there something I can do right now, to make you feel better? I'm a good listener, you know?"

Beckett sniffled. He didn't expect that. "Yes, I know. Triss told me she abused your ears for years."

That tore a smile from him. "I wouldn't say she abused of my ears, but she definitely abused my patience. But down to the point, I'm serious. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

Without a word, she took a step towards him, circled his waist with her arms and hugged him tight. She lay her head on his chest, sighing, then repeated that sniffling. A bit dumbstruck, Castle needed a moment to process what was happening, but he wrapped his arms around her lithe frame and held her tight.

"Just…" she started, her words uncertain. "Just share a last drink with me, at my place. Keep me company for a while, before you go to sleep."

"Gladly. Come on, I saw a nice bottle of vintage wyvern blood vodka in your living room this morning, still unopened. Why don't we finally uncork it and see if it's as bad as everyone says?"

An hour later, the bottle of vodka was nearly empty and the Witcher and sorceress were amicably chitchatting, comfortably sitting at the table in her living room.

"So? What did you do?" asked Beckett when Castle stopped his tale of that time, roughly ten years before, when he was chasing a fleeing wraith that haunted a house and had unwillingly stepped in the territory of a draconid. And draconids, no matter what species, were extremely territorial.

"What could I do? I had just taken a dip in a cockatrice's pile of vomit and she was now in my trail, I let the wraith go and fought that," he explained. "Even though I was so covered in slime that the sword slipped from my grip and basically I had to break its neck with my bare hands!"

"Slippery?" she asked.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me? It was more slippery than catching a mud eel with your eyes closed!" He snatched the bottle and poured some more vodka in his shot glass. The he noticed the bottle was almost empty. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to finish the whole bottle."

Beckett shook her head. "No problem. I just need to teleport to the Druid Circle down in the swamp and buy another bottle."

"It's expensive."

The sorceress poured some in her own glass. "I can afford it."

"Now that you mention it… how can a city guard afford a house like this? I mean, this is no ordinary furniture, this is custom made. From what I know, city guards are under equipped and underpaid."

She smiled. "Well, I'm a sorceress after all. Finding other sources of income isn't hard."

"What sources?"

"You're being a lot more inquisitive than I thought."

Castle shrugged his shoulders. "I like to know who I'm working for."

"Well, I'm a skilled healer. There are people in Vizima that know who I am, and some of them pay me good money to help them with various ailments and… well, other things."

Ah well, he should have expected it. Skilled healers, no matter how young or dabbling in magic, were often sought for very specific problems. Every healer he had known in his life had been, at least occasionally, sought to get rid of… problems. Only sometimes those problems became bigger issues that required the involvement of a Witcher. The neverending cycle of life and death, after all.

"I see." He didn't say anything else.

"You know, you're the first one I told about this side activity that hasn't started an infinite tirade about the sanctity of life."

He snorted, trying to suppress a laugh. "You're talking to a person that for the past sixty years has made a living on shedding gallons of blood. I'm not pious enough to judge your line of work."

"Go and tell that to the other… anyway, I'm sorry for earlier.

"For what? You patched me up in a way that probably won't leave a scar, what should you be sorry for?"

"For what we talked about. I shouldn't have brought up Geralt's death."

His shoulders slumped a bit. "Oh… that. Don't worry about it. I took it pretty bad at the time but I got over it. As I said, no Witcher ever died in his bed."

"I understand but it was insensitive on my part. Come now, it's getting late and I have to be at work at eight AM tomorrow. Are you alright with sleeping on the couch?"

He threw a look at the luxurious piece of furniture, covered in red velvet, wide enough to accommodate his broad form and most of all, long enough. His towering stature sometimes forced him to sleep all curled up in uncomfortable positions because beds and bunks were too short for him. Not that one.

"I think I can manage. I have a blanket in my backpack, I will be fine."

"Good. In case you're cold, there are more blankets in the wardrobe downstairs, in the cellar. If you need anything, help yourself. There's food and water and anything you will need." She stood up. "Goodnight, Castle. See you tomorrow." With that, she stood and headed upstairs, to her bedroom.

He nodded. "Goodnight. And thanks again for the hospitality."

With one foot already on the first step, she stopped and smiled. "Don't mention it."


	10. Meet The Killer

**Chapter 10 - Meet The Killer**

As the first light of dawn brightened the dark sky, Castle woke up. Drowsy and still disarranged from the deep sleep, he pulled the blanket off his body and sat up straight on the sofa. He wasn't a morning person, but he was so used to waking up early that it didn't disturb him anymore. What made him feel sleepier than usual was the fact that he never slept that deep. Witchers rarely felt safe enough to afford a deep sleep and he wasn't an exception. He was so used to being woken every now and then, that one full night of blissful ignorance messed him up big time.

He ran his hands through his hair, finding it matted from the residues of the night before, and groaned. "Fuck…" he cursed under his breath.

He needed another bath. Or at least enough water to wipe the grime off his face and hair. And shave. Damn he needed to shave. Unfortunately, he didn't grow a full beard; his beard was spotty and when it grew he looked more like a teenager with albinism than a full grown man. And he was close to his ninetieth birthday.

Sighing, he stood and walked to the window of the living room, opening it to let in some fresh air. It faced a small garden, away from the busy street. In the dim gray light, he noticed tidy bushes of medicinal herbs, a juniper tree and other plants used in alchemy. All the tools to care for them were lined with care on the wall at his right and on the other side of the garden he saw, through a window, an alchemy table. He hadn't seen that room yet, but it looked like her private laboratory.

"Maybe I'll ask her if I can use it. Stocking up some potions would be nice."

With that, he walked away from the window and looked around. Wiping a still sleepy eye with one hand, he used the Igni Sign to light a candle, so he could see better as he searched for some supplies in his backpack. The living room was wide and spacious, with one door that led into a small kitchen. From there, he could access the basement, where Beckett kept all the gear for bathing and stuff. And if he had heard correctly the day before, she had conjured a whole barrel of water to keep down there, in case of necessity.

Sorceresses would never stop to amaze him, he thought as he walked downstairs.

There, he found a bowl and a jug he promptly filled with water. It was cold, but it would work better to wake him up. Setting the candle on a small table, he proceeded to wash the remains of the fight from last night away, then shaved. He found a mirror hanging on the inside of a wardrobe door, and he was more than happy to shave away the bristly white hairs that had been covering his chin and cheeks for days now. Most of all because the skin of his throat was constantly itching. The dump in the sewers and the fight hadn't helped it.

As he passed the sharp razor on his skin to remove the hairs and the foam, he noticed something in the wardrobe. A rectangular piece of parchment, laid on top of a pile of linens. It was a charcoal drawing, a detailed depiction of the landscapes around Tretegor, with the city in the background and a bucolic meadow in the foreground. A nice postcard, one of those that cost quite a sum of money since they are hand drawn. He gently turned it. Scrawled in quick handwriting, there was a short message.

We just learned about your mom. We're sorry for your loss Kate. She was a great woman. Feel free to teleport here in Tretegor any time you want, in case you need a shoulder to cry on. Or two. We're here for you. With love, Triss and Yennefer.

Both women had signed the postcard in their handwriting. That meant they were behind their words one hundred percent, if he knew those two well. There was no date on the postcard, but it was referring to the death of Beckett's mom, that had happened ten years before. She was probably apprenticing with one of them at the time, or maybe both. Ten years before, he had stayed in the Skellige archipelago for a long while. That meant he had sort of lost contact with his brother and the two sorceresses. No wonder he had never met Kate. But he remembered something Geralt had mentioned, when the three of them, along with Dandelion, were dealing with something big in the city. They had left her behind so she could continue her studies, he thought.

He made a mental note to ask her about her years at the academy, then finished with the last patches of his beard. When he finally was done, he felt himself again. Gone were the bristly white semblance of a beard he never had, gone was the scruffy look that made him look like a beggar. And since he had washed and combed his hair, gone was the whole dirty, violent mercenary sometimes you meet on the road.

Well, he was a mercenary of sorts, could turn violent at times and his line of work often had him covered in dirt, but that wasn't the point.

When he felt like he was presentable, he wiped the remains of shaving soap from his face with a towel, combed his now nearly dry hair once more time then, after he wore his trousers and boots, finally walked upstairs. There, a quite startled, still not so dressed Kate Beckett welcomed her with a scared yelp and a fireball already levitating over her stretched palm. She was ready to incinerate him, turn him into charcoal good to shove in the stove in front of her.

"Castle! Damn it you scared me!" she screamed, extinguishing the flames. She was cooking breakfast, and the table behind here was already prepared. The air was filled with the scents of fresh bread, sizzling bacon and freshly churned butter. Not to mention all the spices and the herbs she had hungup above the stove to dry. It was mesmerizing.

"Sorry Beckett, I thought you would sleep a little longer," he apologized.

Shaking her head, she turned to the stove again, where she was cooking breakfast. "I'm an early riser. And you? Like to creep out of basements at dawn?"

He chuckled. "I like to keep myself clean and presentable, most of all if a nice lady is taking good care of me." He sat at the table in the kitchen. "May I help you in any way?"

She shook her head again. "No, thank you. Just sit down, breakfast will be ready in a moment."

"Good… Listen, I didn't want to pry or anything, but while I shaved I found a postcard from Yennefer and Triss. And you said you know them both, well… when did you meet them?"

She took a deep breath. Evidently, she wasn't thrilled about his discovery. "What were you even doing with that wardrobe open if you didn't want to pry?"

"It has a mirror inside one of the shutters."

"Oh…" she murmured. "I see. Well, I met Yennefer at the Academy. I was ten or eleven years old, I had been studying there for a while at the time and we all knew of the legendary Yennefer of Vengerberg, the most headstrong, determined and ambitious sorceress that ever walked those halls. That was, according to one of the teachers. I was practicing I can't remember which spell and she helped me to perfect it. We met again about twenty years later, while I was doing my apprenticeship."

"I agree with your description of Yennefer, I'd only add bitchy somewhere in there too," he said, humorously. "Anyway… Triss?"

"I was due to split my apprenticeship in two, two years with Triss and two years with another mage, but I ended up with her for all four years. The other mage died at the battle of Sodden before I could even get there to help and that left me without a tutor. When Triss found me at the bottom of the hill after the battle, busy sewing wounds and making potions for the soldiers, knee-deep in bloody mud, she took me back under her so I could finish my studies with her."

She took two plates from a nearby shelf and filled them with the contents of the pan, then lay them on the table and sat in front of him. "Hope you like bacon and eggs, there wasn't much left in the icebox this morning."

"Don't worry. As long as it isn't some kind of tasteless mush, I'm not picky about food." He swiftly ate a forkful of scrambled eggs and bacon. "But yes, in general I like bacon and eggs."

"Good. I'll buy some groceries after work, for tomorrow."

Castle swallowed a bite. "I can do that. I'll be around town all day, picking up some stuff to fill your pantry isn't a big deal."

"Searching for my mother's killer and picking up the grocery? Damn Castle, a girl can get used to this!" she laughed softly. She poured a dark, steaming liquid from a kettle into a tall mug and added some milk. The smell was inebriant, so strong he could almost taste it on his tongue.

"You pay me quite a hefty sum, but most of all you're treating me like a human being and that's more than enough for me to willingly pick up your groceries. By the way, what's that?" he asked, nodding at her cup.

"Oh, it's coffee. Comes from Zerrikania, Lanie had some delivered years ago and from then on I couldn't give it up. I regularly teleport there just to buy it, want to try?"

He nodded, chugged the milk in his mug to empty it and then let her pour a small quantity the liquid in the cup. "It's bitter, when pure. I usually add a spoonful of honey and some milk, but first try it as it is. You may like it that way."

Warily, Castle reached for the cup and inhaled deeply before taking a tentative sip of the hot beverage. It was hot and bitter at first, but as he let it roll on his tongue, it quickly began to unravel all the undertones of its rich taste. The spicy tint and that faint but persistent aroma of vanilla that it left in his mouth when he swallowed made him fall in love with the beverage.

He set the cup down and pushed it towards Kate. "Fill it, to the brim."

Smiling, the sorceress obliged. "Glad you like it."

He nodded before taking a long sip. "Is it just me or there's something in it that gives a kick?"

"It's not just you, I've noticed it myself. I helps me waking up, Lanie told me that back in Zerrikania there's a legend that says a shepherd noticed his goats became hyperactive after eating the seeds of a certain plant and he did the same. With poor results. He ground the seeds and put the powder in hot water, like we do with barley up here and this is the result."

"Wow. I must start travelling down to Zerrikania myself, from time to time." He set the cup, now half empty, down and returned to the pile of scrambled eggs and crispy bacon slices in his plate.

"Ever been there?" she asked.

He shook his head, chewing his food. "Never."

"You should. Great place, lots of culture… not so many monsters… you could take a vacation there. I can teleport there and back if you wanted."

Smiling, he kindly refused. "No thank you. I'm not one for such hot climate. I'm more of a cabin on the ArdSkellig shoreline type of man, if I want to take a vacation."

"Seems lonely."

He shrugged his shoulders. "There's only so much of being treated like a plague ridden dead weight a man can take," he mused. "My line of work forces me to stay among other people that constantly deride me, shove me away or try to swindle me when it's time to pay me for getting rid of a monster, but I don't exactly like it. From time to time I take some time off, sail to ArdSkellig, to an abandoned lighthouse I purchased some years ago and that I refurbished. There, I recharge and write. It's not different from what I do when I come here to Vizima, only it's not meant to stress me with studying or dealing with my overbearing publisher."

"You guys have a tough job, really."

"Don't remind me. But… back to my job. Do you know if there's a tailor somewhere near that could have clothes my size ready? I want to go up to the embassies and at the Eternal Fire temple to look around for our man in black but if I go this way, I'd look a little out of place."

She smiled, showing a wicked glint in her eyes that shone like an autonomous source of light. "I can do better."

"How?"

"I can create an illusion, a long lasting illusion that will make you look like you're dressed with the sharpest doublet and the nicest boots. I can also make you look like you never underwent the mutations."

To say that he was upset was way too little. "What kind of sorcery is that?"

The pun was not lost. "My personal touch to a vast array of magic formulae I perfected through the years. It's based on the formula mages and sorceresses use to alter their aspect that Keira Metz modified so it would create an illusion of change that isn't permanent, but only applied to clothes. I perfected it, adding a personal touch. It creates an illusion of change in the physical look of a person, lasts until the counter spell is used and only others can see it, you still see yourself as you are, unless you look into a mirror," she explained. "That way, you won't look like a Witcher at all."

Yes, he was definitely upset, in a very positive way. "Wow. You're that talented?"

She shrugged. "I told you I had a knack for magic. I'm no Source, but what I lack in raw potential I make it up with committed. I might have abandoned the typical ways of a sorceress for the time being, but hey, that's who I am, I can't do much about it."

"Must be a talent. I bet you can make tons and tons of money if you patent it."

"It needs a little more work, I'd like to work on a timed version, but I don't have much time in my hands at the moment."

"I perfectly understand, but I highly suggest to complete this project. You really could patent it and retire happily ever after in your own private mansion with that type of spell. Now… let us finish with breakfast so you can go to work and I can go and do my Witcher'switchering for the day."

She laughed, softly, at the description of his work, but then returned to her own breakfast. After they were done, she cleaned up and walked upstairs to get dressed for work, and Castle did the same. He fished a shirt out of his backpack, a ratty, once-white piece of cloth falling apart at the seams with just as many repairs as his scars, and donned it. He looked outside, noticed some dark clouds threatening to create a downpour, and decided to add his only jacket. A frayed piece of leather held together by fishing line and spit, but at least it was still somewhat waterproof. In case of rain, he didn't like to be wet so much.

He was buckling the harness on his back when she appeared on top of the stairs, wearing the heavy gambeson and the sword at her hips. The whole thing was definitely unflattering, with the heavy padding, the horrible red and white stripes made her complexion look sickly pale. No, it didn't suit her much.

"You ready?" she asked as she came down to the living room.

"Yep, all set. Ready to be the subject of your still not completely stable spell."

She shoved him, playfully, on the shoulders. "Bugger off, idiot. Now, stay still for a moment."

She positioned herself at his side, placed one hand on his chest and the other in the corresponding spot on his back and murmured a magical spell, but he couldn't make out the exact words. Not that he could have done much with them anyway. As she finished the incantation, a soft blue hue appeared between her hands and his jacket, but other than that, he hadn't seen anything else change.

But then she stepped away from him, hands on her hips and an examining look in her eyes as she scoured his figure from head to toe. "Yeah, not bad. I think I managed to pick up how you'd look without the mutations and the scars."

"You think?" he asked, a bit dubious. "Or you're sure? I don't want the spell to wear down while I talk to a very pious Eternal Fire priest."

"Castle, it won't wear down until I say so. In case I die, you will keep this look forever, or at least the illusion of it. Doublet included. Come, I'll show you a mirror."

"Wait, I'm wearing a doublet?" he gasped. "And what does it mean I'm going to wear it forever?"

Nodding, Beckett dragged him upstairs in her room, where a huge mirror hanged from a wall. "Yes you're wearing a doublet and yes, unless you find another mage that can reverse the spell, if I die today you're going to look like this forever, even if you're buck naked. There, like what you see?"

Castle gasped. He didn't recognize the man in the mirror. He looked like him, but it wasn't him. This man was a ruggedly handsome fellow, with thick brown hair and bright blue eyes. Gone was the raised scar on the bride of his nose, memory of a fairly recent encounter with an archgriffin. Gone was the jagged mark that crept up his neck where a wyvern had slashed his skin nearly half a century ago. But if he touched those spots on his skin, he could still feel the bumps and the creases.

And gone were the old, tattered jacket and shirt, replaced with a state of the art stark white shirt with platinum cuff links at the wrists, a black velvet sleeveless doublet with a high collar and bright red linings. His blood stained pants looked now like a pristine pair of fine black leather trousers, bootcut for comfortable wear with the amazing pair of shiny tanned calfskin boots. His swords didn't reflect in the mirror, though he could still feel their weight on his shoulders.

Never in his life he had worn anything of such quality. Too bad it was an illusion and beneath the spell, he was wearing his terribly simple attire. He sighed. "Do you really think I'd look like this, without the mutations?" he asked, still examining his reflex.

"I think it's a good approximation of how you would have looked like when you were forty."

"Wow." He had no words. It might have been a small, trivial spell that had little uses in the everyday life of a sorceress or a mage, but damn it worked well. The illusion was so real it looked like she had really transformed him. And it had only taken her ten seconds and a couple of words. Damn she was good. "Amazing. Really, I'm shocked!"

"Thank you. Is there anything you want to ask me?"

"Do you think they hold any services today at the Temple?"

They did, only later that morning, before lunch. After Kate left for work, he remained in her living room, studying some more of the case files she had fished yesterday. Not that he learned more, but some of the files had some nice details about the victims. Since they were going to follow the line of the religious motive, he went looking for specific mentions of clashes with the Eternal Fire in the files. He found some, more than enough to justify their choice to go through with that track.

About an hour before the service at the temple, he walked there. The massive building, that once housed an important family who had decided to donate their own home to the Church in exchange of absolution for their past sins, faced out on an enormous square. There, on the other side of the temple, there was a small flower shop. The owner, an old man that gave his life to plants and flowers, was a known herbalist on the side and had often been Castle's source of rare plants for some of his potions. He was in dire need of hellebore and, to kill time until the function, he decided to visit the old herbalist.

But, surprise surprise, he wasn't there. The shop was there yes, and the door was open, but there was no old man behind the counter, or watering the flowers and the plants all around the room. Only a young woman, bustling around some empty terracotta pots and a bunch of sprouting mandrake roots that needed to be relocated in bigger containers.

He knocked on the doorstep to let her know he was walking in. "Excuse me, is the shop open?"

The unknown girl raised her face from the pots and sighed. "Yes," she sighed. "It's open. What do you want?"

The old owner wasn't exactly an example of manners, but even her didn't spark in that field. "I was looking for the old owner and..."

She shrugged her shoulders. "He's dead."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

Another shrug. "Whatever… had the great idea to go out one night and never come back. A monster took him."

A monster? What the hell? "You mean… the monster that…"

"I don't care. My father left me with more debits that I will ever be able to settle and this shop has little to no customers, so I'm asking… what do you want?"

"A quarter of a pound of desiccated hellebore, thank you."

She gave him a court nod and disappeared in the back, only to reappear a minute later with a small burlap sack. She threw it on the counter. "It's fifty orens."

He pulled the money out of his money pouch and handed it to her then went out with his hellebore. Time to bite the bullet and take part of that farce of religious cult and look for their mysterious man. It was still early, but if he wanted to be sure to find him, he needed to pay close attention to all the people that came in. At the entrance, he was welcomed by a young novice of the order that guided him to what used to be the main hall of the house that had been converted into the Eternal Fire altar. The eponymous eternal fire rested in the huge, restored hearth and it projected some grim shadows all around the place. Heavy brocade banners hung on the walls with elaborate embroideries of the Church's symbol, along with the Order Of The Flaming Rose's one. Along the walls there were statues representing the virtues promoted by the cult, and the sins too. There were portraits of monsters and magicians too, beside the sinful statues. Werewolves and others victims of cruel curses mixed up with murderers, herbalists associated with rapists and other malicious people or creature.

Everything mixed up into a crazy bunch of things they considered intrinsically evil. Little did they know that there were werewolves that spent all their lives dealing with their curses without ever tasting the flesh of another human being, or that there were herbalists that devoted their lives to saving others from fevers, cold, infections and other diseases.

Oh well.

He settled in a corner, standing beside a pedestal, to wait and observe.

The hall was quickly filling, people of all social extractions were crowding the place. Still, no sign of the black clad man. There was a small crowd of rich elderly women, sitting in a pew not too far from him, discussing the arrival of a Witcher in town.

"Apparently, he caused quite a ruckus yesterday, at the Hairy Bear!" commented one.

"That happens every other week, no need for Witchers to come and make a mess," continued another one.

"Yes, I know, but apparently he beat a soldier of the Order. I heard a patrol this morning telling another one that he got a kick in his… nether regions, and that it was so hard he won't ever have children, so bad was the damage."

"Oh, that's horrible!" came a third voice, muffled by a gasp. "I wonder what caused such a terrible aggression!"

The first speaker grunted. "Witchers don't need a reason to assault someone. They're more monsters than human."

If only he had a coin for every time Castle had heard a variation of that same sentence, he'd be the richest man in the Northern Kingdoms.

By that time, the hall of the Temple was quite packed. People of all social extractions were flooding in the large room, to the point Castle was surprised. Temerians, culturally, had always been very devoted to Melitele, the Temple on the other side of the city once housed enormous gatherings of worshippers, and the traditional religion was so deeply rooted in everyone's day-to-day life that he'd never think that one day a foreign, extremely strict cult would gather such a large quantity of people.

The rite was about to start when a small group of three men entered. As soon as they had set foot inside, the door was closed and a surreal silence fell on the crowd. The three men, two heavily armed escorting a black clad third, settled not far from Castle, on what looked like a reserved pew. The armed men stood at each end of the pew while the other man sat, silent as a statue, in the very center of it.

There he was. Right when he had lost hope to actually see him, there he was. Now he only needed a reason to talk to him, just to see if he could catch a good look of his face.

Then the rite started. A self-righteous, pole-stuck-up-his-ass priest appeared and did his thing, splitting the function in two with a long sermon that included some ramblings about the impurity of fornication and pre-marital sex, a blatant racist rant against elves, dwarves and halflings, and just in the end a never-ending tirade about how worshippers of the Eternal Fire were called upon to donate money to the Church, to keep the cleansing fire burning.

Castle doubted all the money that those people devoted to the church went into the funds for firewood. More probably, it went straight to Novigrad, in Vimme Vivaldi's bank, in the account of some high ranking priest of the order.

Castle wasn't a man prone to hate, despite his grim and taxing life, he was a pretty positive person, everything considered. He didn't hate religions per se. He was very open minded to the various cults and tried to respect the beliefs of every person he met, but the Church Of Eternal Fire sickened him. Its values were nothing but racist, sectarian rubbish that promoted violence against those less fortunate, therefore those not born human, that shoved away those in need and, in the end, was only there to promote their interests.

Most of their money and riches was bloodstained. Some of it, dripped with the blood of innocent non-humans, mages or simple herbalists burned at the stake for heresy.

He couldn't do much about it, he hated that cult with all his might and withstanding a whole rite of it nearly caused him a metaphorical appearance of urticaria.

Sure his skin prickled every time the priest mentioned the sinful nature of magic and how those trained in its used were a threat to all the pious men and women in the room.

As a skilled user of magic, albeit very basic magic, he was personally offended by such remark, but he simply gritted his teeth and endured it. He was waiting for the right chance to talk to that man.

That chance came right after the priest declared the end of the function. The man, backed by the two bodyguards, walked towards one of the altars, close to where he was stationed.

Castle took some time to observe him as he moved. He was the personification of unnerving. The long, heavy cape didn't show his legs, so he looked like he was hovering on the ground as he walked. Not to mention the cowl, that left only the lower part of his face visible. The stern line of his mouth and the chiseled chin made him look like a marble statue. At least what part of his face Castle could see.

He was heading his way. Right when Castle thought he hadn't even noticed him, probably brushing him off as just another church-goer, when he suddenly stopped. A sudden cloud of cologne assaulted his nostrils, making him gag a little. Also, the wolfhead medallion vibrated against the skin of his chest. There was something magical about him.

"You are not from here." It was a peremptory statement, direct and certain. And the kaedweni accent the beggars had spoken of just the day before was very pronounced.

Lucky Castle, he had grown up in Kaedwen, and though he had kind of lost his accent through the years, thanks to Meredith's useful diction lessons, he still knew how to at least fake it. He just needed to remember to avoid contractions, as high-born people in Kaedwen used them in extra rare occasions. Which meant never. They considered them rude and disrespectful.

"I am just a humble traveler that would not want to lose a service."

A smile appeared on the man's face. "Oh, a fellow kaedweni," he said, the tone of his voice remained flat as a slab of stone, just to add more creepiness to the whole thing. "Rare, these days."

"I arrived this morning," said Castle. "From Redania."

"And you are here for what reason?"

"Business," replied Castle. "I have a meeting with my publisher."

Witchers often had to lie, in their line of work. Vesemir, his mentor back at KaerMorhen, always taught him to keep lies simple and as adherent to truth as possible. In the end, he had come to Vizima to meet his publisher, only it had already happened. That lie wasn't too far from the truth.

"A writer? Interesting. What do you write about, Mister…?"

"Rogers." Castle extended his hand. "Richard Rogers. I'm a novelist."

They shook hands. "Yes, I think I remember seeing some of your books in a bookshop, some time ago. Well, Mister Rogers, it was nice to meet a fellow worshipper of the Eternal Fire, but I have to ask you to vacate this nook, as I require it for private prayer."

Castle nodded curtly, and stepped away from the nook with the altar. "With pleasure… sir?"

"Bracken. William Bracken. Member of the embassy envoy from Kaedwen. As a fellow kaedweni, you are free to come and join me to the private rites held at the Redania embassy, every night before supper. "

Another nod. "I will consider it, if I find the time. Unfortunately, every time I spend time in Vizima, it is always packed with an infinite sequence of matters I have to attend. Mostly, bureaucratic nonsense that, alas, at home would not take place. Too bad the printing industry has little to no presence back in Kaedwen."

Bracken smiled, a stern but seemingly sincere smile. "You are too right, Mister Rogers. Now, I will leave you to the matters awaiting, and I will do my prayers. Again, it was a pleasure to meet you. Coonan, Maddox, you know what to do."

Castle bid him farewell as his bodyguards took their stand at each side of the shrine Bracken had selected for his prayers and walked out of the Temple as fast as he could. That man was creepy as fuck, and if Castle was weirded out by him, it meant it was way beyond the creepiness he had witnessed in his life.

As soon as he was outside, he took a moment to enjoy the fresh, though not perfumed, air. Inside the Temple, the lack of windows, the ever burning fire and candles, coupled with the sheer stench of dirty humanity, the air was unbearable, most of all to a person with a keen sense of smell as a Witcher. He was almost nauseated by the putrid smell that hung in that room. Not to mention that the bodyguards, but also Bracken himself, reeked of blood like a slaughterhouse.

He started fearing the psycho had already kidnapped another victim.

Unbuttoning the collar of his shirt, he headed towards the Temple of Melitele, where a large garden filled with juniper trees allowed him to think clearly.

Scent of blood, both recent and magic hanging off of him, as the medallion had sensed. A distinct sense of impending danger as he talked to him… yes, Bracken was their man. And if he wasn't, he was at least connected. The same smell of cologne he had perceived on the latest victim's clothes wafted everywhere Bracken went. He was a devoted, overly so, follower of the Eternal Fire doctrine.

And he was a mage. Or at least a source not trained to use his powers.

A very frustrated source that couldn't cope with the contradiction of being so well versed in magic and having such a deep faith in a cult that shun away all magic and deemed it sinful and intrinsically evil.

"Fuck…" he muttered, running his hands through his hair.

That man was a ploughing serial killer and they had no evidence to sustain such claim except some vague deduction based on traces only he could see.

They were fucked.


	11. This Isn't Right

**Chapter 11 - This Isn't Right**

There had been rare occasions, in Castle's life, where he had absolutely no idea of what to do. Ever since he had left Kaer Morhen, at the prime age of twenty five years old, he had always had at least a semblance of a perspective on what he had in front of him, which options he had and what would happen if he acted in this or that way. He liked to take his risks, but never without some serious planning. After all, he had a daughter, and before her a mother, that he wanted to see at least a couple of times a year, he didn't really want to die.

But in that moment, as he paced up and down the courtyard of the Temple of Melitele, he didn't have a clue on what to do.

Had it be a normal monster, he'd simply put some apt oil on his silver blade and proceed to slay it and retrieve his payment, but in this case?

They had a mage, or maybe even a Source - which was even worse, in his opinion - with fanatical religious views that went diametrically against his very upbringing, or nature itself in case he was a Source, that kept two heavily bodyguards at his sides at all times. That alone was a terrible thing. But this man also was a ploughing psychopath that kept a vampire in his basement for his own pleasure!

By Melitele's ass, they were so fucked!

"Fuck… fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!" he muttered. A ghost whiff of the scents he brought with him still lingered in his nostrils, and the mix of incense, sweat, cologne and blood made his throat constrict, to the point he thought he was about to gag. No matter how strong the inebriating scent of juniper in the garden was.

And the fact that he probably had already found another victim made him feel like crap. It was a race against time, if the poor fucker was still alive.

At least they had a name. With a name, an identity, they could at least dig out something, devise a plan and find a course of action. Yes, they were fucked, but they needed to get this bastard out of Vizima. He didn't deserve to live, he was more of a monster than the ghoul he had beheaded the other day. And while walking on the Path for so many years he had learned that often, very often, humans were worst than the actual monsters he was trained to slain. And Bracken was a monster, though not in the literal sense of the word.

Groaning, he took a deep breath and decided to take a walk. He needed to clear his head a little bit, so he headed down to the Hairy Bear, on instinct. He was so engrossed in his thoughts, in devising plans over plans to take down Bracken, that he had forgot what had happened the night before and his fresh ban from the barge.

He remembered only when he saw the owner hauling a destroyed table over a cart, right outside the door. Covered in sweat, red in the face, he was getting rid of all the broken furniture that he had contributed to render useless. Although he was protected by the magical spell Kate had placed on him, he didn't really want to cause more damage. Castle turned on his heels and headed to the other side of the small gravel square down to Carmen's brothel.

The small but otherwise neat whorehouse was already open and when he walked in, many clients were already deep into bargaining with the girls for a better price for the required services.

The Witcher sighed. In thirty seconds inside the waiting room with annexed bar, he saw more tits and flashes of cunts than in the previous year. He bitterly thought about how meager the last few months had been in that department, but then he pushed away the idea and went looking for Carmen. She was the Madame, maybe she had heard something about Bracken. He had already asked her about the black-clad man and she had no idea of who he was talking about, but with a name, maybe he'd be more fortunate.

A short, petite, barely legal girl with long wavy hair and a skimpy dress that left most of her chest bare, approached him.

"Hey stud…" she called, gently touching his arm. "Lookin' for something in particular?"

"I'm looking for Carmen." He pulled a couple of orens from his pouch and slid them in her hand. "Is she working?"

The blondie, smiling wide, pointed at a door, behind the bar. "In there. Bookkeeping. She's not on active duty today though."

"I'm not here for sex, I just need a friend."

The young prostitute smiled again, but he could tell she was about to laugh. After all, who goes looking for a friend in a whorehouse? But above all, who goes looking for a friend in the madame of said whorehouse?

He thanked the still snickering girl and then knocked on the door. Carmen's muffled voice called him in. When he opened the door, he found her sitting behind a simple makeshift desk built out of a slab of darkened wood and two sawhorses, their rusty hinges creaking every time she pressed the quill on the paper. "Carmen, do you have a moment?"

He had forgotten that he was still in disguise.

The fiery redhead looked up from her work. "Who are you?"

He mentally smacked himself. "I'm Rick Castle."

Her nose quirked in a puzzled expression. "No way."

Castle sighed. "I know I don't look pretty much like me, it's a spell a friend put on me so I wouldn't look like a Witcher."

"Eh… I have to say I prefer you the other way. But tell me. For you I always have time. But coming here twice in a week Rick? A girl could get used to it. Please, sit down."

He pulled a chair from a corner and sat in front of her. "But just like yesterday, I'm not here for taking advantage of your services."

She shook her head. "Still looking for that monster?"

Castle nodded. "Yes. I think I found it, or better, I think I found its owner."

The woman raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Owner?"

"Yes… you know I came here asking for a man dressed all in black? Well, from the marks and traces left on the latest victim I managed to understand what type of monster I'm looking for, but beyond that I found traces of a mild monster repellant on the face of the dead man. In fact the face was the only part of the body that wasn't mangled or half chewed was the face. Also, the clothes he wore retained a distinct masculine scent, so I'm sure I'm looking for a man. There were witnesses that saw the last two confirmed victims in the company of this tall, black clad man that has been seen hanging around the embassies dealing with people from the Church Of Eternal Fire. So I went looking for him there."

"And I guess you found him."

Again, Castle nodded. "Yes. William Bracken." Carmen's eyes widened when he mentioned the man's name, clearly in fear. "You know him?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't know him, I've never even seen him. I know of him. He's been living on and off in a huge villa just outside the city, on the other side of the lake. He also has a townhouse, in the upper quarters. He's the scourge of those who follow the traditional religion, the priestesses fear him, he's been advocating for the destruction of the Temple ever since he set foot in town and now that the Order of the Flaming Rose is here, he's even scarier. His power is limitless, only he acts from behind the scenes. People are scared of him, at the top floors."

Castle chuckled. "You seem to know quite a lot about this man!"

"Really, Rick?" she asked, with an annoyed expression on her face. "Some of my clients come from said top floors and you have no idea how talkative they get when they've just fucked and are downing a bottle of wine. Words get around and Bracken's name is always spoken with fearful voice!"

"I'm not surprised, he's creepy as fuck," he mused. "You said he lives outside the city?"

"Yes," asserted Carmen. "I'm not exactly sure where, but he lives outside the city. He has a townhouse near the embassy, or so one of his lackeys with a loose tongue said some time ago."

Pensive, Castle tapped his fingers on his knee. Everything he learned gave him a little bit more to work on, yet they were at square one if they wanted to bring him to justice the right way.

Truth was, he had little hope they'd manage to prove he was behind those murders, as Bracken was a highly intelligent, albeit sociopathic, person. He had left little tangible traces of his passage both on the secondary scenes and on the bodies, they had no way to prove he was actually there. It had taken a Witcher to find those details that had allowed him to track Bracken down, and he had been killing for more than twenty years.

If only he had found the contract earlier… But what Kate had said about the contract posted on the notice board was right. The piece of parchment was nearly blank after so much time exposed to the weather and buried beneath more recent notices and posts.

He had the feeling Bracken had a lot to do with the fact that no one had ever taken care to post a newer, more legible notice.

"Castle?" Carmen's voice brought him back from his thoughts. "You alright?"

A little startled, he nodded. "Yes Carmen, I was just thinking."

"Need anything else? I'm kind of busy at the moment, but if you need more information about Bracken I can try to dig something out. There's quite a lot of movement out there, maybe I can find someone from the embassies to fool and have him spill something."

He snorted, loud, trying not to burst into a heartfelt laugh. "No Carmen, thank you. I don't doubt you'd be more than capable to extort any information from anyone, I've tasted your abilities first hand. Truth is, I highly doubt you'd be able to find anything because he's extremely careful when he kills. But thank you for the offer."

She shrugged. "The offer stands. You just need to come here and ask me nicely."

"I'll keep that in mind." He stood. "Come on, time to go back out and keep investigating. My employer would want to know what I found out today."

The Madame stood herself and escorted him to the door, her arm hooked around his. "Color me curious, who's your employer?"

"Kate Beckett." She grasped his bicep with a little more strength. "You know her?"

"Of course I do. We all go to her when we need something for… you know… job's hazards."

"I understand perfectly well. I've been told she's a good healer."

"You have no idea. She's exceptional. Of all the healers that came and went to Vizima, she's the best, extraordinary. Kind, compassionate, never judges… she treats everyone, from the lowest whore to the richest noblewoman in town. If I were you, I'd keep her as a close friend, after you finished with the contract. In your line of work, a skilled healer as a friend could prove useful."

Didn't he know?

As usual, Carmen proved to be extremely useful. Her knowledge of the underground of Temeria's capital city was unmatched, and the information she had provided only consolidated his already strong conviction that Bracken was the responsible of those murders.

Time to report to Kate. She was still working, she'd be until mid afternoon, but she needed to know. And while on duty, she might be able to gather more about Bracken. But he needed to know where she was.

He found her location just inside the guard post, not too far from Carmen's brothel. By the door, a charming yet stern looking woman from Zerrikania, judging by her beautiful dark skin, sat behind a desk covered in parchment. "May I help you?" she asked, taking off the thick wooden framed glasses. Her voice was plain but full of authority. Was she Beckett's captain?

"Yes ma'am, I…"

She stopped him before he could finish his sentence. "You may call your mother ma'am, I'm Captain Victoria Gates, I share responsibility of the city guards with Captain Vincent Meys. You can either address me as Sir or Captain. Now tell me, who are you and what do you want?"

He extended his hand, slightly intimidated by how stern Captain Gates looked. "I'm Richard Castle. Witcher." They shook hands. "I'm looking for Kate Beckett. I have important things to discuss with her."

"Why does a Witcher need to talk to Officer Beckett?"

"I'm handling a contract issued by the City of Vizima and she helped me finding some information about a monster I'm tracking. Now I found more, but I need her to confirm what I learned."

The captain looked up at him, her stare so intense it creeped him out a little bit. "Alright Mister Castle. I'll bite and I'll tell you where she's stationed today. But if you distract her from her duty for too long, you're going to regret it."

Castle curtly bowed. "I'll take care not to steal too much time from her duty, Captain. Thank you."

Beckett was stationed to the Miller's Gate. It was the most used gate of the eastern side of the city, it gave straight on the road to the Outskirts, and at the moment, with the plague going on, it was one of the few open gates of Vizima. Guards were in charge of checking the health of those who entered and those who walked out, in order to avoid more contagious loci inside the city. It was a tough job, and he was lucky he was a Witcher, therefore immune to any type of diseases, and they had let him pass faster than the others in line with him.

When he arrived there, she was checking the documents of a travelling merchant, while Esposito and Ryan checked the members of the caravan for any early sign of the plague. When they were done with the small troop, Castle called her. "Beckett!"

She turned, swiping her long hair away from her face. "Hey Castle! What are you doing here?"

"I have news. I've found the man in black."

"What?" she shrieked, completely bewildered by the news. "So fast? How did you do it?"

"I followed the trail of death he left behind him," he joked. "No actually he came to me, at the Temple. I pulled out my best kaedweni accent and now I know his name. It's William Bracken."

Her eyes shot wide open in disbelief when he mentioned the name. "No, it can't be!"

"Trust me, I met him. He came close enough that I could pick up the very mix of scents I found on the last victim's clothes. And new blood. He's got a new victim somewhere."

Beckett cursed. Loud. It was a borderline blasphemy and it surprised him. He didn't think she had it in her. Usually sorceresses were poised and calm when in public. In private, in their own secluded laboratories, they could curse worse than Skellige's sailors, but in public they were taught to be nearly frigid. She probably hadn't attended that lecture.

"You sure?"

"I'll be sure when I'll find the fleder or the katakan chained or hibernated in his basement, but yes, I'm quite sure it's him. The mix of scents he brings with him is too unique to mistake it."

She heaved a sigh and rested her hands on her hips. "We're fucked."

"That's what I said. Would you mind take the spell off?"

She jolted, as if electrocuted by lightning. "Yes sure." She waved her hand and murmured a spell, then looked at him from head to toe. "There you go. No traces left, you're Richard Castle again."

"Thanks. But be ready to pull Richard Rogers out of your bag of tricks again, because I've been personally invited at the embassy for a private hearing with the priest of the Eternal Fire."

Beckett sighed again. "I don't even want to know how you did that. Bracken is a reclusive person, he travels with at least a bodyguard and his mansion is a fortress, no way in hell or heaven that you could sneak in."

Castle tapped his fingers on the hilt of the knife he kept tucked in his belt. "What if I get myself invited?"

She raised her eyebrow, skeptical. "At his mansion?"

"Exactly," he explained. "After all, he thinks I'm a kaedweni novelist and a devotee of the Church. He said his door is open, at the embassy, for private function. I could try to befriend him, I mean… I'm a good liar and I can keep the facade up for a night or two."

"Does he know you write about a Redanian Witcher turned spy that defected to the Temerians and is now a Blue Stripe special agent undercover with a knack for undermining the Church's criminal activities?"

"Oh, I just killed Derrick, I can always make up a lie about having killed him because I recently saw the light of the Eternal Fire!" He waved it off as if it was nothing.

Suddenly, Beckett went rigid on the spot. "You what? You killed Derrick?" she snapped, just as loud as she had cursed just a moment earlier once she had learned about Bracken. "Why the fuck would you even do that?"

"Because I got bored with him and…"

Something caught his eyes. A movement, in his peripheral vision, to his right. His monster slayer instinct kicked in and his right hand went straight to the hilt of his silver sword. He turned to his right and looked more closely towards the watermill, just down a ditch.

"Castle?" Beckett called to him, but he ignored her, as he kept his eyes trained on that spot where he had seen something move. Something greenish, translucent and oily.

"Castle what are you doing?" prodded Ryan behind him, but the Witcher ignored him too. He took a step towards the ditch and noticed another movement.

He barely had the time to push Beckett out of the way before the long tongue of a Water Hag, a monster typically found on riverbeds and bogs, wrapped around his neck and pulled. The strong drawing force made him lose his balance and he fell down the muddy ditch with a loud yelp. He slid on his back, the thick, slimy tongue cut off his breath and as the monster dragged him towards the water, he tried to pry it away but it was too strong and slippery. His fingers, no matter how strong, didn't have enough grip to grasp the muscle and detach it from his neck.

Faster than he could say _I'm gonna cut your head off_ he landed in the murky waters with a splash and a gasp when the hag unwrapped its tongue off his neck. The cold water shocked him enough that he jolted on his feet so fast he still had to draw his first breath after the hag had let him go. As soon as he was standing again, the hag tried to grab him with its tongue again. This time, Castle was not caught off guard trying to protect something else. He raised his left, non dominant arm and the slippery muscle wrapped around it and not his neck. He grabbed it as best as he could to hold it in place then pulled, hard. The monster stumbled and fell to its knees with a pain-filled hiss, but Castle didn't stop. He unsheathed his hunting knife and cut the tongue with a swift downward blow. The monster cried in pain as the long tongue snapped back in its tongue, but the Witcher wasn't done with it. He threw the blood dripping knife at the monster, sticking the blade right between the eyes.

It wasn't nearly enough to kill it though. It was a normal steel blade, it would hurt it but it wasn't nearly enough to kill it. It took a second, brutal cleave with his silver sword between the head and the shoulder to get rid of it forever. Or at least until someone else with a strong resentment or will to live died in the murky waters of the river and turned into another hag.

It all happened in less than ten seconds, so fast Beckett hadn't had the time to stand up again and both Ryan and Esposito, along with the two other guards beside them, were still helplessly stuck like codfishes hung out to dry on a sunny day.

With a clean cloth he always kept in a water resistant pouch, Castle cleaned both the sword and the knife before sheathing them, then grabbed the severed head of the hag by its stringy, plastered hair with one hand and the lifeless body with the other. He dragged them on the riverbank, on a dry patch of sand and gravel, before igniting the corpse in order to burn it and avoid dangerous necrophagers looking for a fresh meal, then he walked back up the ditch to the stunned guards.

Dripping in muddy water, slightly cold and definitely in a bad moon, Castle sighed as he threw the soggy monster's head a couple of yards ahead of him. "What? You've never seen a water hag?"

Esposito and Ryan, mouths open wide in stupor, shook their heads. "Nope…"

His shoulders sagged. "Do you know if there's a contract posted for a water hag in this area? It would be nice to get wet for a reason."

"The villagers of the village on the other side of the bridge have been whining for a while about disappeared cattle," said one of the unnarmed guards that were helping with the sorting of documents for those who wanted to go in and out Vizima. "Maybe you can go and ask their mayor."

He looked towards the other end of the bridge. He knew the mayor, a racist prick more interested in extorting money from his subjects than anything else. Surely he would never pay the right price for a water hag, considering how he had tried to coerce a lower price than they had established for the pack of drowners only a week before.

He looked down at the head in his hand. Strange. Water hags usually were in command of pack of drowners, and this one looked fairly old, at least ten or fifteen years, considering the warts on the now burning body and the ruinous state of its teeth, but he had exterminated at least twenty, if not thirty drowners just seven days before and never saw the hag. Folks said Water Hags were drowner's wives, but in reality, they were more like their king. Or queen, considering the female appearance.

"Beckett, can you come with me? The mayor's a prick and we quarreled last week, official authority could help me."

The sorceress nodded. It would have taken less than an hour, threatening to kick the shit out of the mayor if needed included, and traffic wasn't that bad that day. They could have talked about Bracken and how to take him down on their way there.

"Want me to dry you up?" she asked when they were out of earshot from the other guards.

He raised an eyebrow. "Can you?"

"I made you look like a socially acceptable member of society. You don't think I can dry you up?"

His shoulders slumped and he pushed his drippy, floppy hair away from his eyes. "Go ahead. You've proven you're worthy."

He hadn't taken three steps and he was now clean and dry, as if he had never taken that plunge in the river. "There, better now?"

He nodded. "Thanks. I owe you one. Want to go somewhere fancy tonight?"

Beckett laughed, loud. A heartfelt laugh that lit her up like a match in the dark. That smile warmed his heart. "Thanks Castle, but no. I think we have more important things to discuss tonight."

"We could always discuss them in front of a nice dinner, some real wine and maybe dessert. You can pull that trick you did this morning with me, we could look like a normal couple and we could devise a plan together. Two minds are better than one, most of all if one of those two minds is a Sorceress' brain."

She giggled, suddenly shy. And a hint of blushing too. Compliments overwhelmed her a little. "We could… Listen, let's see how tired I am when my shift ends, alright? There's a place I've been dying to try, but going there alone is crazy. Toussant gourmet cuisine. You're in?"

Castle extended his hand and she took it, shaking it heartily. "I'm in."

* * *

That night, Beckett wasn't tired at all. She quickly washed the dirt of the day away and donned more comfortable clothes before working the spell she had invented on herself and then Castle.

She had chosen a gorgeous red dress with golden lace inserts and crystals. The dress was tight and allowed her to finally show off some curves as it highlighted them in the most gorgeous way. It was sexy but non excessive. Classy, like her. Castle smiled when she appeared at the top of the stairs, a beautiful hand-made coral and silver necklace. She sparkled.

For him, she had chosen a sober but elegant black suit. Tailored cotton trousers, boot cut again, black calfskin leather ceremonial boots, a shiny leather belt with a silver buckle decorated so it represented a hunting scene, a popular decorative element in Kaedwen, white starched shirt with silver cufflinks and a black and gray elegant jacket while beneath the illusion he had the same clothes he had been wearing since morning.

"Shall we go?" she asked.

He hooked his arm and offered it to her, like a real gentleman. "We shall. Lead the way, Katherine Beckett."

About two hours later they were sitting in a private booth on padded benches covered in red brocade, surrounded by a selection of the best food from Toussant, a duchy in Nilfgaard known for the exquisite wines and the food typically swimming in butter. And everything was delicious. They ate and drank their fill, apparently busy in a happy conversation about the beauties of Toussant and how great the weather was there, but in reality, they were conspiring to sneak in Bracken's mansion to gather the necessary evidence to frame him for the murders.

They were in the middle of trying to find a reasonable motive to drop by the villa, between a morsel of bread dipped in spiced butter and a sip of an amazing red wine which name they had forgotten, when a child, no older than twelve, approached their table.

"Mister Rogers?"

Castle needed a moment to realize the boy was calling him, since he wasn't so used to his given name and literary identity. "Yes?"

The boy handed him a piece of folded paper, signed with bright red sealing wax. "This is for you."

Castle nodded and pulled a couple of coins for the delivery boy. He also picked a bun from the basket on their table and handed him that too. "There you go. Go back home now."

As the boy walked away, happily chewing on the fresh bread, the Witcher in disguise broke the seal and unfolded the paper. It was thick, quality paper. It retained a strong scent of soap and cologne, mixed with soot, volcanic sand and lye. The mix assaulted his delicate nostrils and he knew who had sent it before even reading the short message.

Gritting his teeth, he read it top to bottom. "We've been conspiring for the whole evening for nothing," he stated.

Beckett leaned against the table, closer to him. "Why?"

"Bracken has invited us both to a private event in his mansion. Two days from now."

The sorceress grasped the letter. "No fuckin' way."

"Beckett, we're in a fancy venue, you can't cuss like a sailor."

"My mother's killer invites _us_ in his mansion right when we're looking for him? This isn't right."

Castle nodded. "It isn't. I fear he might have not fallen for my lie this morning, but it's worth a try."

She heaved an exasperated sigh. "What should we do? Waltz in there like it's nothing and sneak into his basement."

He shrugged. "Been there, done that. Many times. We can pull it off, we just need to go shopping for some fitting clothes for the event."

"What, my magic isn't enough?"

"Bracken's paranoid, I'm pretty sure he has placed something that block, or at least detect magic. I also need hair dye."

"Anything else?"

"Are you religious?" he asked. At her silent negation, a minute gesture of her head, he replied with a stern but peremptory sentence. "Then all we need to do is avoiding pitchforks in the gut, then we should be fine."

* * *

 _And with this chapter, this story officially passed the 50k words mark! Yuppie!_


	12. Stab Bawl Punch Crawl

**Chapter 12 - Stab Bawl Punch Crawl**

As they walked back from the restaurant, with Bracken's note neatly folded in Castle's pocket, they were silent. Kate's illusion dispelled, they looked like normal people again, not posh high society members and Castle was hypervigilant about their surroundings. Something felt odd to him. It was something in the air, it was crisp and the smell of smoke lingered, but there was something different, among the different odors he picked up. There was something different, and it wasn't just the scent of the blooming potted flowers.

"You alright?" asked Kate.

"Yeah…" he replied, his voice tone slightly low. "It's just… nothing. Sometimes I feel like I'm being a paranoid."

"Comes with the job, I think. Listen, I was thinking…"

Castle chuckled. "That sentence coming from a mage never brings anything good."

She smiled, too. "I know. Especially if it was Triss to say those words. Or Keira. Anyway… I was thinking that we might forgo the whole getting a tailored suit in two days thing. Also, your eyes unmistakingly identify you as a Witcher, you would never pass as a normal person, even with your hair perfectly dyed."

He stopped in his tracks and looked down at her. "Color me intrigued. What do you have in mind?."

"I have a device, at home. The Nehaleni's Eye. It's used to detect and dispel magic, most of all illusions. It's the best type of such objects, it's rare and difficult to build, so I doubt Bracken will have one. If I can tinker with my spell to make it hard to detect, they won't find us. Even using precise devices like that."

"Are you sure you can do it in two days?"

"Castle, I learned how to teleport in two hours, I'm pretty sure I can make a spell undetectable in forty eight."

And she did it. Took quite some strenuous work, huffing and puffing in frustration and then some more, but later the next afternoon, Beckett came up with a variation of the spell that allowed her to create extremely realistic illusions over their bodies to give the impression they were important people and not just a lowly guard and a detest Witcher.

After having fished the Eye of Nehaleni from a locked trunk in her small laboratory, Kate had shut all the windows in the house, also drawing the curtains in order to block inappropriate snooping from curious people on the street and had immediately got to work, toying with the original formula, integrating elder speech and other arcane languages in them, adding masking agents and other stuff the Witcher had no knowledge of. He only knew that each variation of the formula gave him different clothes, very unlike the sturdy but otherwise ragged ones he was wearing. And each time, the Eye of Nehaleni gave a sharp shrill in response, when placed close to him and the illusion. After a couple of dead ends, Beckett had pulled a couple of books on illusions from her library and had delved into them while Castle prepared some tea for them and exploited her alchemy lab, way more advanced than his portable one, to restock his potions.

"Why don't you go to sleep?" he had said, as he bottled his toxic but necessary decoctions in clear glass vials and capped them tight, so they wouldn't spill. "It's late, you should get some rest, I'm sure you're going to work better next morning."

The sorceress had vehemently shook her head. "No Castle, the faster I find the right track, the better the spell will be. Trust me, I can afford to lose some sleep."

He shrugged, not wanting to argue with a very determined sorceress out on a quest. "If you say so."

She kept working, tireless, for hours, taking short breaks for basic needs like food, drinks and a trip or two to the toilet, but even during those pauses, she planned ahead, slowly figuring out the right way to proceed.

When it had happened, when she had finally found a magic formula that resulted in a convincing illusion without producing the high pitched shrill from the detector, she had let out a strangled yelp, of surprise. After that, it had only been a matter of tweaking with the spell to obtain a strong illusion, something that could be not only seen, but also touched, without causing detectors to find it.

And with more than twenty-four hours before the banquet, Beckett had all the time to work in peace.

The results of the hard work came with the astounding maroon suit she had _tailored_ for Castle, with embroidered details of flames on the doublet and jacket, crisp white shirt and white gold buttons and cufflinks, that covered his padded chest armor and blades. Coupled with the miracle work she had done on his physical aspect, with his hair and eyes now human and scars gone, he could really pass for humble Richard Rogers, well known novelist and, according to the cover they had devised, proud husband of Kate Beckett. Because they had decided to go undercover as husband and wife, as it would make it easier to sneak away from the bustle of a banquet.

But above the magic she had operated on him, she had made a remarkable work on herself, with the black dress she had conjured to cover her own, comfortable clothes and weapons. Long skirt, black lacy details on the hems, plunging neckline that made her beautiful neck and cleavage stand out. The dress plunged in the back too, leaving most of her back naked. A touch of makeup to highlight her eyes and lips, a quick magic trick to give her long hair a sensuous wave and she was ready.

She had clearly chosen black so she would blend in perfectly with the latest fashion among women followers of the Eternal Fire, but Castle couldn't help but think that behind the choice of colors and type of dress there was more than a bit of influence from Yennefer. The older sorceress was a fan of black, white, and lace, rarely wore anything different and, to be honest, Castle had never seen her wearing something that wasn't at least gray, when she was alive. The only touch of color on her person were her bright violet eyes, a trait that made her easy to recognize in the crowd. He had heard the bard Dandelion describe her eyes as magnets, impossible to tear your eyes off, but the Witcher had to disagree. As Beckett presented herself to him, in the dim flickering light of the candles, Castle couldn't help but notice a bright glint in her eyes, something more that gave her irises a different shade. The usual mix of warm greens was now speckled with an even warmer color, like rich dark honey flowing freely from the comb. Sweet, but also raw and with a fierceness in the taste that made it stand out from purified honey.

Beautiful didn't even start to describe her.

"Ma'am, are you ready?" he asked, taking her hand and kissing it, in his best imitation of a gallant knight.

She giggled and smiled. "Yes sir. Have you provided for transportation?"

He nodded. "Yes. We have a carriage ready outside the door. It arrived while you were getting dressed."

"Perfect. Anything I should know about tonight?"

He escorted her outside, locked the door and helped up the wagon. He signalled the driver that he could go and then sat in front of her. "Nothing more than what we have planned. We go, blend in, eat something and mingle with some people. Remember, I'm disguised as a kaedweni, I don't use contractions when I speak, but you can use them as your cover makes you redanian. After a while, when they are going to be too engrossed in shit-talking non-believers, we sneak away. They are going to probably think we're just a young couple that wants to be alone for a while… for nothing sexual of course, and I doubt they're going to be bothered."

"After that?"

"We drop the illusion and go straight to the dungeon. If we're right and Bracken's our man, we'll find what we need there. He needs a cold place, without light and little noise, to keep a lower vampire controllable. He probably starves it until he needs its services, so we're looking for a place underground, with thick walls and no windows. Easy enough."

She chuckled. "Basically, every dungeon in the city. Anyway… we'll see when we get there. Have you ever done anything like this?"

"You mean infiltrating in a potential serial killer's manor to investigate his sordid dealings while there's a party upstairs? Along with the most beautiful sorceress I have ever laid eyes on?" He paused for a moment and enjoyed, with glee, her sudden blushing at the unexpected compliment. "Nah, never. I did work with some beautiful women in the past, but they were no match, compared to you."

She bit her lower lip, a mischievous glare shining from her eyes, and suddenly the air inside the coach was a tad too warm. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Castle."

He gave her a courteous nod, acknowledging her words. "And I don't intend to go anywhere."

* * *

When they arrived at the mansion, they knew the banquet was going to be dull as an unsharpened sword. The house itself was boring, a squared block of stone with squared doors and windows, little to no garden, fine gravel in the courtyard… the whole area was engulfed a dark and gloomy atmosphere, probably brought on by the thick residual magic that lingered around there. Castle's wolfhead medallion strenuously vibrated against his chest. He threw a look at Kate and caught her wrinkling her nose. "You feel it?"

"The magic? Oh yes, very clear. Feels like pinpricks on my skin."

"Come on, let's get inside. The valet at the door is fretting, let's not have him wait on us."

The young valet, who looked more like a scared doe than a proper valet, escorted them inside the manor and down to the main hall, where the banquet was being held. Many guests had already arrived and they were quietly chatting among them as they waited for the master of the house to declare the beginning of the manse. Other valets and waiters walked in complete silence among the guests, holding trays of food and drinks.

The first thing Castle noticed, was the abundance of decorations that adorned the hall. Unlike the front of the house, Bracken's main hall was a display of wealth and power, all themed around the Eternal Fire, yet rich and luxurious. That man liked to make people feel inferior and inadequate, that was sure.

Said man was now surrounded by a small group of his guests, bestowing benevolent but cold smiles to them as they thanked him for the invite.

Once done with the pleasantries and greeting the master of the house, they did what they had planned to do. They mingled, putting up the best mask they could as they clung to each other like the newlyweds they were supposed to impersonate as they talked to other guests. Having a beautiful woman clutching at his arm like a nice decoration allowed him to catalyze the attention in the room and that was exactly what they wanted.

After a short ceremony held by an Eternal Fire high priest they were invited to sit at the long tables. As they did, he caught Beckett fidgeting a little, felt her hand grasp his forearm so hard her arm shook with tension.

"You alright?" he asked, keeping his voice as low as he could.

The sorceress gave him a minute nod, barely visible. "No… there's something unnerving around here. So much magic… it's making me nervous."

"It's only going to get worse. Try not to think about it. Think about the fact that we're about to stop a psycho from killing innocent people."

She chuckled. "It's not exactly easy. How do you do that?"

"Do what?" he asked, sitting down beside her and smiling politely at the couple sitting before them.

"How can you be so calm?"

"Oh, that? A mix of my mutations, vast experience and a decent talent for acting. Deep down, all this magic is making me gag, but I suppress it. And it works."

"If you say so…"

They put up with the crap all the people around them were saying for the whole duration of the banquet. It took them all their patience and some decent amount of tongue biting to suppress their own opinions, completely opposite to the doctrine of the Eternal Fire. It was the main subject of the night and no matter how they both tried to swerve away from it, everyone just kept going back.

Castle did his best to keep from losing control when the conversation inevitably turned towards religious matters and anything related, the unknown Witcher in town included.

Also, the moment the Witcher was mentioned, Bracken decided it was time to intervene in the conversation. Up to that moment, it had been restricted between Castle, Beckett, a rich spice merchant, his wife, and a noblewoman from Redania, but suddenly the kaedweni envoy decided it was time to jump in and express his opinion.

"Ah, the Witcher. I heard about him. It seems like he caused quite some damage at the Hairy Bear. Not that you can distinguish between a mole hole and a damaged Hairy Bear, that place is nothing but another entrance to the sewers. What are your opinions on the caste, Master Rogers?"

Castle set the gold rimmed chalice he was drinking from on the table. "Are you asking me about the Witcher because I am a novelist, a follower of the Eternal Fire or just a simple man who does not know how to bear a sword?"

He tried to stall the conversation long enough to think about something adequate to reply.

"Nice accent!" murmured Kate.

"Thank you," he replied, just as low.

Bracken shrugged, his bright blue eyes bearing down his own. The Witcher barely held back a shudder.

"All of the above."

"Well…" he started. "As a follower of the Eternal Fire, I abhor them. They're nothing but monsters, freaks of nature, the result of incautious and fraudulent abuse of magic. Without them, the world would be a better place." And with that, he had sated everyone's need to see their beliefs confirmed by a complete stranger. "As a man, I find them repellant but, unfortunately, something we need. Without them, our streets would be swarmed with even more dangerous monsters, and I would hate to see my journeys interrupted by a dreadful appearance of a muck-covered heinous creature. As a novelist… that is another matter."

He spotted a quick glint in Bracken's eye, impossible to read. It could have been curiosity, piqued by the way he had interrupted his sentence, or annoyance.

"And what would your novelist opinion be?"

"The storyteller in me finds them fascinating." A low buzz echoed in the hall, filled with terror. "Yes, they are freaks. Yes, they are nothing but mercenaries, they are only after the money you can give them. Yes, they live promiscuous lives, bedding everything that breathes… but they are also masters of a dying craft that has often proved to be necessary in our world. How many monsters have killed - in the most gruesome way - humans to feed on their flesh, gnaw on their bones and suck on their marrow? How many times have corpses been left in battlefields, to rot in the open air without a proper burial, because monsters had already made their nest in there, and no one dared to go and retrieve the bodies? We pay Witchers to get rid of monsters, of course, but we would also pay a carpenter for a piece of furniture, a stonemason for the building of our new house… we pay professionals to do their job. Witchers are professionals. Despicable, but professionals."

Bracken, amidst the tomb-like silence that had fallen on the small crowd, smiled as he interlaced his fingers in front of his face. "Interesting theory, Master Rogers. Now I want to ask you something about your career. You have written more than a few books about a Witcher, a certain Derrick Storm, right?" Castle nodded. "You made your main character a Witcher because you wanted to give an outlet to this fascination or what?"

Castle took a sip of wine, a fairly decent Tuissant Rosè, before he replied. "A bit of an outlet for that fascination and the fact that I met a Witcher, ages ago, that proved to be a decent fellow and a nice character with many stories to tell. A bit rough in character, but deep down, a man with moral standards not too different from mine. Well, not diametrically opposed, at least."

"Interesting opinion. Not very in line with the Doctrine, but interesting."

The irritated inflection in his voice revealed he was very displeased with what he had just heard, and both Castle and Beckett knew they had just made a powerful enemy. He wondered what would happen if Bracken would find out that Kate was a sorceress.

A magician? In his house? Undetected? With a Witcher? There was a good chance that his head would explode, or at least he would get so angry he would self combust with hatred.

Not a bad outcome, if Castle had to be honest with himself.

"Let me elaborate. I have not redeemed the whole category of Witchers just because I met this one that was a decent person. Finding a good man among Witchers is like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack." Something that, thanks to his augmented sight, Castle had been able to pull off more than once, just to brag about it with peasants. "I was looking for inspiration, I found something that was interesting to write and that, allow me to be a little greedy here, fascinated people enough that they were compelled to buy my books. Derrick Storm, filthy scoundrel that he is, has become my main source of income, he sold better than anything I have ever written. I don't condone things he has done and said, though they come from my own imagination. They fit the character, not my opinions and beliefs. Which are quite the opposite."

That seemed to quench Bracken's thirst for his blood. "Good to know."

With that, dinner resumed with some casual conversations, split between small groups.

"Well played…" said Beckett somewhere between the desert and the presentation of liquors and other sweet wines that would accompany the last part of the banquet.

"I have my way with words."

They spent the rest of the evening suppressing the ever growing sense of discomfort building in their stomach as others spoke ill of them, in an indirect way. They proved to be good actors though, as no one ever suspected a thing.

They were a good team.

Yet, the sour note that had tainted the otherwise delicious meal threatened to ruin everything when they moved from the banquet all to a much smaller and less lit parlor. Lushly furnished, it served its purpose perfectly as it gave room for conversation. But as it was so scarcely illuminated, it made the perfect place to escape from.

Therefore, as soon as the other guests were engrossed enough in their racist slander or simply too ebb with expensive imported wines , or the high-proof spirits, they did just that, they slipped away from the overbearing sense of dismay that crowd brought upon them.

"By the grace of everything that's considered holy…" blared Castle as Beckett shed the illusions from their body. "One more minute in there and I swear I would have gone on a killing spree. Not even the whole Nilfgaardian army could have stopped me."

"I hear you. Now… let's kill the vampire. If we have some time left, we could always burn down the whole mansion with them inside and make it look like an accident."

"As tempting as it is, I've already been accused of murder and believe me, it's not nice. Let's find this vampire."

The moment they arrived downstairs, to the corridor that led down to the dungeon, Castle immediately went into what he called the _Witcher seek mode_. He filtered everything around him, Beckett's presence included and looked, listened, smelled the area that surrounded them.

The low corridor was dark and damp, only rough torches placed in scones on the wall left to shed some light on the area. Water filtered from outside, damping the porous stone and creating dark splotches of mold where the water trickled inside.

Many different odours pervaded the place, but the most distinct of all was the coppery smell of blood. He grabbed the hilt of his sword and pulled it out, the silver-lined blade shimmering in the dim light as he walked towards the source of the smell.

"Found anything?" asked Kate when they reached a sealed door. Castle drew a deep breath and his nose prickled in disgust. "Yes," he stated. "I think we've found his dungeon of horrors."

He tried to open the door exerting some force on the handle, but the keyhole was sturdy, and then thick oak wood made a formidable way to keep people out of someone's business.

Then Beckett pushed him to the side. "Let me."

She held her hand against the keyhole, palm splayed on it, and murmured a spell that Castle knew well: the evocation of fire, that could be molded in a thundering fireball but also into flickering candlelight. In that case, Beckett was using the heat, not the fire, to melt the metal and open the door without effort. Soon, the metal plate became red hot, and a small rivulet of lead trickled down the door.

It opened a moment later with a soft creak from the rusty hinges.

"Nice job!" he exclaimed.

"I have my way with spells."

They ventured inside, down a dark corridor without any source of light. Castle walked ahead, since he was the only one that could actually see in the dark thanks to one of his potions.

"What can you see?" asked the sorceress after they had walked for a while without finding anything.

"Nothing. Walls and walls. Rat shit. Mold stains on the stone. Bracken should keep this place cleaner, it's a damn good place for unwanted monsters to make their nests. Wait…" he stopped in his tracks and listened. He heard a squelching sound, like someone splashing around a small pool of water, but the echo distorted the sound way too much to identify its source. He took a couple of steps forward the the echo diminished. Beneath the liquid sounds he heard something screeching, like chalk on a blackboard. The closer they got, the easier it was to identify the noises. Something was sucking the blood out of a body.

The moment he understood what that noise was, Castle rushed forward and landed in a large circular room. On the walls there were fetters and chains, saws and knives, a collection of torture instruments that would make Sad Albert pale in comparison. And Sad Albert was the table where young trainees were strapped in order to keep them calm when the Trial Of The Grasses, one of the trials that allowed trainees to turn into Witchers with their first, painful, consumption of mutagens. Only four out of ten children made it through, as the pain of the process was considered the worst thing that could happen to a human being. Hence, Castle knew what he was talking about.

He saw a large cage, shining in the little light that filtered through a crack in the ceiling. Silver coated the bars, to keep the monster calm and subdued.

But what made him nearly gag was the show that was taking place in the center of the room. A large, quite healthy and possibly overnourished ekkimara, a lesser vampire as he had predicted, was feasting on the body of a poor man, as it laid lifeless on the stone floor. The monster's snout was stained with fresh blood, the yellow eyes shined with the frenzy of the feeding. It wasn't a hungry monster, it wasn't emaciated like many wild monsters Castle had encountered in his life but it had a taste for blood. He liked it, thrived on it. And Bracken fed him regularly to the point it had probably acquired a taste.

It was sickening.

"Is that sound what I think it is?" asked Beckett behind him.

"Yes, it is. And we're lucky, the ekkimara is too worried with its meal, it hasn't noticed us yet. Don't move and let me cut its head. Easy enough."

Ekkimaras weren't that dangerous. They were dangerous as any monster can be, but among vampires, ekkimaras were on the lowest part of the scale of danger caused by them. They weren't innocuous, but they also weren't terrifying.

True to his words, Castle approached the feasting monster and raised his silver blade. The creature didn't even see what was coming, when the Witcher swiftly beheaded it with one single swing of his sword. It didn't make a sound, the head just fell off and rolled a few feet away from the now rigid body. It fell on the floor, on its side, still clutching at the now ragged clothes of the dead man that had been its meal.

Without second thoughts of any kind, Castle walked to the closest wall and ignited a torch hanging from a pewter sconce. When he turned, he saw Beckett blinking at the sudden source of light.

"You're done?" she asked, shielding her eyes from the torch.

He nodded. "Yes. The monster is dead." He then walked closer to the body. "Did you know him?"

The sorceress followed him and looked down at the dead man. "Never seen him before. What do you see?"

"Same as the other man I examined. Same marks, same blunt force trauma to the head, same traces of oil on the face, this time stronger as they have not been washed away… Yes, everything matches. We've got our killer."

"Too bad we don't have evidence it was Bracken. After all, many people live here, his bodyguards, the servants… all of them could have access to this place."

Castle, who had been crouching beside the body to examine it, stood up and, after having cleaned the blood off the sword, he sheathed it. "Then let's find them. Look around, I bet this guy is so completely deranged he keeps a journal about the murders."

But the same moment they turned to different directions so they could go looking for anything that they could use to incriminate Bracken, they heard voices down the corridor they came in.

They turned just in time to see one of Bracken's bodyguards entering the room, swords in their hands. They charged at Castle who quickly jumped out of their way, pushing Beckett away from them. He hadn't expected though that those two could be more than large thugs hired to protect a psycho. They were in fact skilled swordsmen, that soon proved to be a match to Castle's skills. They reduced him to opt for a defensive stance, as the barrage of swings gave him no room to attack.

When he saw a window, he acted. He pushed one of them away, using Aard and making him fly backwards a few yards, and concentrated on the still standing swordsman. Much easier and more fair fight. Now tables were turned. Castle attacked, relentlessly, and the guard was forced to parry and deflect his blows, but he was no match for a Witcher. His footwork was horrible, he was constantly faltering and trying to keep up, and that was way more than enough for Castle to find his weakness. He left the left side of his body uncovered every time he raised his sword to strike. When he did it again, Castle closed in and headbutted the man on his nose. It made him stagger and drop his sword, so Castle could swing his own. The sharp steel blade cut his left hamstring, nearly cut the bone too, rendering him harmless.

The guard dropped on the ground holding his bleeding leg and howling in pain, which stopped the moment the Witcher's sword sunk in his chest, killing him nearly instantly. Castle started turning so he could face the other thug but he had no time. He was already behind him, wielding a sharp knife that he pushed in the Witcher's back before he could face him.

At first, Castle didn't register the pain, only the sudden smell of blood that surrounded him that didn't come from the dead man at his feet. Then the thug twisted the knife in his guts and then he felt it, the sharp pain radiating from his back to his chest and down to his legs. The man pulled the knife away and stabbed him again, once, twice… three times, piercing the light padded armor, his skin and internal organs, shredding his liver and puncturing a kidney in the way. Blood poured in his abdomen like a flood and Castle, too dumbstruck to do anything, but to fall on his knees still holding his sword like a lifeline.

He hadn't seen that coming.

What he also hadn't seen coming was Beckett's reaction. She had remained on the side, not getting the way, but the moment he had fallen on the floor, she had rushed to the bodyguard and tackled him like a pro. They fell on the floor and the man let go of the knife, just for a split second as he was already grasping for it, but it was long enough for her to grab it and slash his throat in one single, fluid motion.

Far off in the distance, he heard her voice speaking some unknown words and suddenly his body was engulfed in something cold, as if he had fallen in the snow wearing a thick coat.

The last thing he remembered was the taste of blood in his mouth as he felt a sharp tug on his collar, when Beckett dragged his heavy body into the portal she had just conjured.

But most of all, he remembered Bracken's cold, gleaming eyes as he smiled down onto them from the threshold of his dungeon, before the void took him.

* * *

 _And gore ensues..._


	13. Of Sorcery And Surgery

_Also known the chapter in which Kate pulls a Claire Fraser act and saves the day._

* * *

 **Chapter 13 - Of Sorcery And Surgery**

Kate felt a strong push on her back, like a sudden gust of impetuous wind that knocked her over several feet away. She landed on the crude stone floor with a thump, she barely had the time to protect her head when she found herself on the ground, gasping for air.

She turned over, on her back, and saw Castle battling Bracken's henchmen, his swift and calculated moves in stark contrast with their more crude and brutal swordfighting. They had seemingly forgot about her, so she quickly stood up and rushed to the wall where a black, heavy desk was stationed. It was covered in different papers and parchments, runes scattered over them in what looked like an endless list of deranged spells. Words like _blood, pain, slash_ and _crush_ were repeated over and over, and that meant only one thing. Those spells, although extremely rudimental and rough, were meant to be used for torture. She ran her eyes over what looked like a binding spell to keep a monster in check, but most of the scribbles were spells mean to invoke suffering on the receiving end.

Beneath the scattered papers, she found a book. A leather bound ledger, closed with a simple string. It showed signs of wear on the corners and the spine was cracked, but otherwise, it was nearly mint. She undid the string and opened it to a random page.

Much to her surprise and dismay, it was a journal Bracken kept about his victims. A page or two dedicated to each one of them, who they were, what they had said about the Eternal Fire to enrage him, when they had been abducted and how long they had lasted. All neatly written in trained calligraphy, the swirls of ink on the thick paper showed Bracken's highborn status and his expensive education. His runes were crap, but his craftsmanship writing in cursive was exquisite.

She found two more tomes on a shelf right above the desk, one of them was another journal like the one she had just retrieved, the other was more of a personal journal filled with crazy thoughts of a person that couldn't coexist with his natural talent for magic. Because at that point it was more than obvious that William Bracken was an untrained Source, with his blind faith in the Eternal Fire. To his point of view, he was an abomination, an impure being, and he tried with all his might to suppress his ability with magic, and to maintain a semblance of peace, he had erected himself as the paladin of the Eternal Fire in Vizima. Vocal opposers had to be eliminated.

And so he did. He wiped away all the people that had dared to say anything that belittled his faith. In the most sadistic way possible.

What Beckett couldn't understand though was the real motive behind the fact that he used a monster to hide his dirty deeds. Maybe Castle was right, it was only an opportunistic thing to do as monsters could be easily found in the sewers of any city, so no one would make much of a fuss if a monster got loose in the city and killed people. That was the nature of monsters, right?

But she suspected that there was a deeper meaning behind the use of a monster. She felt there was something more. Maybe it was retaliation? Some sort of exorcism for what he thought of himself? Something along the lines of _I think I'm a monster, I kill you with a monster._

She was lost in her thoughts when the sudden absence of sounds around startled her. She turned around and saw one of the thugs stabbing Castle in the back. The other already lay at the Witcher's feet, dead.

In haste, Beckett cast a spell on the three tomes, miniaturized them and pushed them in her pocket, as they were now only as big as sugar cubes, then ran towards the two men. Exploiting her momentum, she tackled the assailant and dragged him to the ground. The abrupt aggression startled him, and he let go of the knife. She took hold of its hilt before he could grasp it again and slashed his throat. She nearly beheaded him. He died before her eyes, but she couldn't feel anything but rage, as blood spluttered from the wound and his mouth, staining her clothes.

Without time to think, the sorceress stood again and conjured a portal, adding a little tweak in order to mask the coordinates of the exit, then grabbed Castle's shirt by the nape of the neck and dragged him inside with her.

They ungraciously fell on the floor of her bedroom with a loud clatter of steel as Castle's sword fell on the wooden planks from his now lass hand. Used to the more graceful walk out of portals, Kate felt stunned at first, as the Witcher's limp, unconscious body fell above her.

"Damn you're heavy!" she groaned, pushing Castle off her. He moaned at the sudden movement, but didn't wake up.

The sorceress knelt beside him and pushed so he rolled on his side, then checked the stab wounds. She had put him under a stasis spell. It was probably the same spell Triss must have used that day Geralt died, since Castle had been wounded too and had they had to drag Castle away from the raging crowd. Problem was, she had no idea how much blood he had already lost. When she had got to him, after having slashed Bracken's bodyguard's throat, he had already lost a lot of blood, enough to pass through the padded armor he was wearing and stain the external layer of his gray shirt. Even with that indicator, she had no idea of the degree of the internal damage.

Careful not to disrupt the stasis spell, that kept things in check and stopped further bleeding, she probed the wounds with her fingers. The first stab was inclined upward, delivered from a low angle on the way up. She could feel the ragged edges of the shredded liver beneath her fingertips. Not good. She checked two others, also delivered with an upward. One had punctured a kidney, the other had collided with the rib and hadn't done much damage. Probably punctured the diaphragm and nicked the bone of a rib or two. She really hoped there was no damage to the heart.

"Castle?" she called, slapping his face. Even with her hands covered in blood, she could feel that his skin was cold and clammy. His breathing was strained. She pressed her ear to his chest and heard a loud gurgling sound.

It was worse than she had thought.

"Come on Castle, don't let me down like this!" she told him as she tore the front of the shirt and untied the strings that kept the armor closed, the took his pulse, uneven and weak. Not good. Hypovolemic shock. The last stab wound, the one she had deemed not too dangerous, had probably touched the inferior vena cava. That meant a large hemorrhage in a very limited time, with most of the blood trapped in the chest cavity.

She had stopped it, magically, but the spell couldn't last forever, not with the extent of the damage. She needed to fix it and stitch him up, quick, before he bled to death.

And she needed to be faster than she had ever been at stitching.

"I swear I'm gonna throw a bucket of water on every Eternal Fire shrine I may encounter if you die!" she grunted, standing up and rushing to her bed. She pulled back the duvet and the white bedsheets, before kneeling and forcefully opening a drawer beneath the structure, where she kept some linens. She chose some old sheets, yellowed by many washes and sun drying, but before spreading them she went looking for an old, cured sheepskin that a young doctor had given her years before. It was a good way to gather blood and avoid permanent stains on the mattress. She set the skin on it and then added three more layers of old linen.

Then she went back to Castle. Before moving him, she checked again his vital signs, unchanged in the last couple of minutes, then proceeded to murmur a levitation spell that allowed her to move him without effort and little distress for him. Exploiting the fact that he was suspended in mid-air, she unbuckled the sword harness, the belt, heavy with all the pouches and then his soaked shirt and armor. Everything fell on the floor, the silver sword in his scabbard made a loud noise but the clothing fell with a dull plop, made heavy by the blood. She kept the pouches at hand, knowing they contained his potions. She was sure she'd find something with healing properties. Something apt for a Witcher.

He groaned a little when she placed him down again, but otherwise made no more noise.

Beckett lit all the candles in the room at once, and only then assessed the extent of his wounds with her eyes. She saw nothing new, three deep stab wounds, one enlarged by the twist of the blade, directed to the liver, the others barely a bloody slit in the already scarred skin.

"Alright…" she sighed. "Let's see if among all the stinking potions you brew there's something useful."

The bright colored vials slipped beneath her bloody fingers as she tried to extract them. There were at least ten of them, and while she had studied, in theory, the potions brewed by Witchers when she was working with Triss, she wasn't sure which was the one she needed. She immediately excluded the yellow vial, curative potions were all red because of a common ingredient, celandine. The blue one and the oils were excluded just as easily. Only three vials remained, only she didn't know what potions they were. Because there were different curative potions that Witchers brew, and she didn't know how to distinguish them, nor did she havethe enhanced sight to notice the slight difference of color in them.

The potion called Swallow, a brew of celandine and the goo of a drowner's brain in high proof alcohol, would boost his enhanced healing abilities, it worked slowly but it wasn't too toxic. On the other end a decoction of White Raffard, and herb that grew on rocky slopes, would immediately heal him to some degree, but it was highly toxic. At the moment, his body was already taxed with the hemorrhage she wasn't sure he could deal with both.

"Damn Castle, you Witchers never label your ploughin' potions!" she cursed, uncorking a random vial and slowly pouring the crimson liquid in his mouth. She really hoped it was the right one, because if it was the more toxic one, she doubted he'd make it through the sudden pollution of his blood. He swallowed, by reflex, then was quaked by a sudden fit of cough. He spluttered blood and traces of the potion. His eyes shot open as his limbs convulsed. Beckett had to force him down on the bed to avoid the disruption on the already strained spell that kept his wounds in check while she tried to save him.

"You guys are nuts…" she commented when she saw the signs of intoxication appear on his skin, the deep blue shadows of the polluted blood pumped by his heart. Because potions, unfortunately, while helpful and sometimes indispensable, could kill.

When he quieted again, she gently turned him on his side again, then went looking for the stuff she needed. Needle, thread, disinfectant, distilled and purified alcohol, scissors and a mile of gauze. Everything was at hand in her small laboratory downstairs, and she found them in less than a minute. Time was running out, the stasis spell was about to implode and while she could always cast it again, it would made things worse, since the stasis stopped the blood from pouring, but it also stopped the natural ways the human body used to heal itself. Even the potion she had given him wasn't doing anything for the wounds by itself, but it was settling everything else, like the heartbeat and blood pressure, forcing one to slow down and the latter to go up to more normal levels, and most of all compelled the body to produce more plasma and all the elements that compose blood.

Speaking of lost blood, she'd have to drain the internal hemorrhage someway. The only way she knew was to wedge a sharp steel cannula in the chest or abdominal cavity and let the blood out. It was the only applicable way, because even though there were spells for that issue, they were not exactly safe to use, she trusted the traditional instrumental way more than magic.

Too bad she didn't have anything like that in her equipment, only the flexible tubing she used in her alembic to brew potions. Well, that had to do. She grabbed all the tubes, made of reinforced natural gum, a thin sharp knife and then went back to her patient.

She carefully lay all her instruments on a clean cloth on a table close by, conjured a large pot of hot water and sat on a chair in front of him, to work more comfortably. "Time to get to work…"

For an indistinguishable amount of time, she poked, prodded, stitched, cut, dabbed, cleaned and closed pieces of flesh and organs. At times, Beckett had to go wrist-deep in his guts to fix all the damage done by Bracken's man… Cole Maddox was his name she thought. And the first one to die was called Dick Coonan, they were both well-known to authorities for being involved in many scuffles and were suspected in a number of aggressions and batteries that had happened in the past, but their boss' authority made them untouchables.

And there she was, unable to arrest them as a guard, fixing their damage as a clandestine healer. A sorcerer turned surgeon turned criminal, because that night they were trespassing in Bracken's manor, even though they had been formally invited.

Castle woke up a couple of times, and she was pleased to see him coherent, though in pain and not so willing to talk as she stitched him up from the inside. Literally. She tried to use magic to make him more comfortable, but there was little she could do to ease the pain. Stitching the posterior wall of the stomach and the diaphragm proved to be trickier than she thought. The blood loss from the inferior vena cava was massive, and though she had fixed that as soon as she had found the nick, small quantities of blood still trickled a little and made things more slippery. And that hurt him more. Every passage of the curved needle was like a walk through hell for him, each flush with hot water mixed with strong disinfectant felt like molten iron was being poured in his guts, his words not hers.

But as the effects of the potion wore off, things got exponentially worse. The stasis spell had long since been disrupted by her poking and prodding in his guts and other spells she had used, and the moment she tried to drain the internal hemorrhage everything slipped out of control. He had lost way more blood than she had thought, and it gushed out the rubber tube so fast she couldn't control it. At least a pint of dark red blood soaked her clothes, before she managed to grab a clamp and close it.

The sudden decrease of pressure inside the abdominal cavity made his blood pressure go down and his heart rate go up, spiking to alarming rates.

"Fuck…" she muttered as she threw in another spell to try and counteract the damage caused by the improvised drainage. "Castle, don't even think about dying…" she checked his pulse again. "You have a contract to complete!"

Then, the idea. That spark of genius that her mentors often spoke about when praising her during her training. He needed blood to replenish his system but his body couldn't keep up with the loss. She could give him what he had lost back. She just needed to clean it and take away the clots.

She had already performed something like that, she knew the procedure, the chemical reagents and the spell needed. She had everything downstairs. She just needed to hurry up.

"Be right back!" she whispered before she bolted downstairs and fetched everything she needed.

Once back, she poured a thick white liquid from a bottle in a glass device with three large, separated funnels designed to let different liquids drip at different rates, then cast a quick spell on it. She usually used it for particular potions or other decoctions that required a careful addition of certain ingredients which could be regulated at the desired rate. With that done, she took the now empty bottle, placed the end of the rubber tube of her improvised drainage and removed the clamp. The rest of the blood, at least three pints, poured a second compartment. Once the last few drops had come out, she set the dripper and removed the drain tube. She sealed the small cut with a magic spell and then went to do the same with the chest. There was blood even in the chest cavity, and she needed to remove it.

With that done, Beckett conjured a bottle of clean water in which she added a mix of different salts to replenish his already depleted reserves.

She was almost ready for the self-transfusion, a fairly new technique that she had helped develop during the time spent at the Oxenfurt Academy for an intensive course on human anatomy, surgery and other stuff that could always help her work as a healer, if she ever decided to dedicate her life to that branch of magic.

She wished she had the time to test if his blood was compatible with her own, because that meant she could perform a normal transfusion, donor to receiver, but she didn't have the time nor the meanings to do such a test. Self-transfusions required a de-clotting agent, large quantities of blood from the wounded person and water to make things drip faster and better. To that, she needed to add a very specific spell to stabilize the ingredients; unfortunately, the only declotting agent they had been able to formulated tended to react briskly with water and make things worse. The spell slowed down this reaction.

It was a risky technique that needed to be refined, but it could be pulled off. And as things were going, at the moment, it was his only chance to survive. More spells applied directly to his system would most certainly kill him, same for his potions, he was too weak. Maybe she could brew a less concentrated and thus less toxic potion that she could drip straight into his blood system, it would require some time but if the auto-transfusion worked, time could be found.

She tied a tourniquet around his left bicep. "Let's hope it will work," she whispered, sticking a thick hollow needle in a vein in his elbow, connected it to the end of a sterilized tube while the other was tied to the mixing chamber of the funnels and then opened the three spigots at the adapt rate.

With a sigh, she untied the tourniquet and watched the bright red liquid quickly drip down the semitransparent gum tube straight into his brachial vein.

Beckett carefully checked his pulse at his neck, found it weak but way more regular than earlier, and finally, she felt like she could relax. He was stable enough, the transfusion should make him better, to the point that maybe he'd be able to assume the more toxic potion that would heal the greater part of the remaining wounds almost immediately. There were still signs of the toxicity of the previous potion in his body, she could see them on his face, hands and arms, but she couldn't do much about it. She only had to wait.

Exhausted beyond reason, Kate gracelessly fell on the other side of the bed, flat on her back, and released a long held breath that she hadn't realized she had been keeping while checking his vital signs.

She dared to close her eyes for a moment, letting the stress of emergency surgery flow away from her shaking limbs. It had been a while since she had to do that kind of hard work that required all her skills. After years of _fixing_ rich women's _issues_ or the ailments of prostitutes and their clients, she had come to think she had lost the necessary abilities to pull of a surgery like this without proper tools, illumination and help. Castle's wounds were serious enough to be life-threatening even for tough systems like the hardened body of a Witcher, if he had been a normal human being, he would have died in a minute or two from the initial blood loss, even with the stasis spell she had cast roughly ten seconds after the wounds had been inflicted.

Instead he had endured both the wounds and the crude treatment, without anaesthesia and anything that would make the surgery more comfortable for him. Not even a drop of vodka to dull the pain a little.

Richard Castle was a badass Witcher, just like his older brother.

For a moment, the sorceress thought back at the pogroms in Rivia, when Geralt and Yennefer had been killed by the enraged mob. Would things had gone differently, had she been present along with Triss? Maybe, maybe not. Maybe their deaths were demanded by fate.

After all, the sword of destiny is a double-bladed, bloodthirsty sword. One side is death, the other is yourself, and both Geralt and Yennefer had lived their life in certain ways that had probably brought them to that point when they _had_ to die.

For the first time in years, she found herself missing her old mentor, despite her bitchiness and sour behavior.

It was a short-lived moment of mourning though, she still had a patient to tend to.

She stood from the bed and walked around it to check the state of the sutures on his back. They held fine, despite their ragged edges and terribly rough stitching. Careful not to wake him, she washed the excessive blood with a clean cloth soaked in alcohol, then applied some tight bandages to keep the gauze from moving too much. She also added some extra padding so the wounds wouldn't chafe too much, when she gently laid him on his back, but before that she changed the sheets beneath him. Using the same spell she had used to move him to the bed, she let him levitate mid air while she changed the drenched linens and the goat hide that had kept the mattress safe from his bodily fluid.

When he was settled, she took his boots and trousers off, letting him rest in his underclothes to preserve a little bit of modesty, then covered him with a thick blanket. She only left the right arm out of the warm cocoon to allow the transfusion to take place and check the pulse from time to time.

He was steadily getting a little better, but he was still a grizzly sight, with the pale skin streaked with the black marks of blood pollution. Not to mention the blood marks she had left on his neck when checking his pulse.

"Gods…" she whispered, as she washed her hands with abundant alcohol. "I wonder what would Triss would say if she saw the hackwork I did on you. I fear she'd transform me into a statuette."

By the time all the blood had been transfused, Beckett had managed to clean herself up and change the clothes, but when she finally thought things were going to resolve for the better, she took the needle out of his vein and checked his signs, she found him burning up.

"Oh no…"

She checked his forehead and the back of his neck. He was hot as a burning fire. "No, no… no for fuck's sake Castle! Fever? A Witcher? What the fuck man!"

Despite all the alcohol she had used, bacteria must have survived, somehow. An infection. It was the only reason he could have a fever. He felt as hot as an oven, and there was no spell to cure that. Nor to speed recovery up. Only highly toxic potions that he probably wasn't strong enough to endure.

"Fuck!" she snapped, throwing a bloody rag against the wall. "You really want me to poison you, don't you?"

She looked down at the unconscious man on her bed, her hands on her hips in a scolding manner. He didn't look good, at all, and the sorceress wasn't exactly sure if he could pull through without external help.

Biting her lip in frustration and exhaustion, she walked down the stairs to her lab. "Let's see if I can find something that won't kill you…"


	14. Extreme Measures

_Someone in the reviews kinda made me notice that maybe I made Castle a too weak Witcher, compared to Geralt. May I remind you that Geralt died from a similar wound (a pitchfork in the gut, handled by a teen, that probably did the same damage the three stab wounds did on Castle here) and that he had already risked his life, like he was on the verge of dying, from a simple gash on his thigh in one of the short stories in The Sword Of Destiny, and survived only because his own mother literally drained herself to save him from the blood loss and the infection? Witchers are tough, tougher than the average human being, but damn even they have limits, most of all if they don't have time to drink their potions before a fight._

 _Also, I wanted to write a Christmas Themed story, but the story I published last Friday took like ages to be written so, nope. Even this year, no Christmas Story from me. Ah, well... Anyway, happy holidays to everyone reading, have fun with your family and if you don't celebrate for whatever reason, have a merry time nevertheless. May his noodly appendage touch your holiday this season, eat and drink with moderation and generally have a good time. And a happy new year of course!_

* * *

 **Chapter 14 - Extreme Measures**

A night that had started like a nuisance and an insult to all magic users, universal knowledge and more generally free will, had become a full-fledged horrid livid nightmare. Between the discovery of Bracken's dungeon of horrors, the monster banqueting of a poor soul just recently dead, the fight and subsequent emergency surgery performed in dim candlelight in her own bedroom, Beckett thought she had seen enough. But Castle decided it would be a good thing to develop a sudden post-operative infection with spiking fever.

As if she wasn't tired enough, after all that and the cruel work schedule.

After having brewed a small set of febrifuge potions, diluted to the point that the benefits would outweigh the toxicity, to keep his already taxed system from further harm, she finally administered the first dose then crumbled on the other side of the bed, exhausted. She wished she could just fall asleep, but adrenaline was still pumping in her veins and she couldn't just shut her brain off. She'd have to pull another all nighter. She wasn't exactly known for her ability to function when sleep deprived, but even if worn out, drained and emotionally devastated by the events of the last week, she was wide awake and ready to work.

As she checked Castle's vital signs again, she felt a sudden pang of sympathy for Yennefer and all the crap she had to put up with Geralt. The White Wolf had also required her own knowledge in medicine and healing magic, but he mainly relied on Triss and, most of all, on Yennefer to heal wounds that surpassed his potions or his boosted healing abilities. Beckett now realized why both her mentors held quite a grudge on the Witcher. Maybe not a grudge, but they surely heaved a desperate sigh of contempt when they saw Geralt walking, crawling or being hauled in front of them with gaping wounds caused by the Gods knew what monster or unknown blade.

It wasn't like she resented Castle for getting hurt as he helped her finding her mother's murder, but she could have done without the infection and the fever. Because she could deal with wounds, she could repair the damage and stitch him back up. She could use magic on him. She had already treated him a couple of days before - after a scuffle at the Hairy Bear - that wasn't a problem. But infections and fever, on a person that had lost an insane amount of blood and had sustained such an extended trauma to internal organs and major blood vessels could be extremely difficult to treat.

Fever was the natural response of the body to get rid of infections, but it was also dangerous as it could cause epileptic seizures and other nasty issues like organ failures or brain damage. At the moment she didn't have anything at home that could be useful for treating infections, she only had enough for potion that would lower the fever. And even that way, she couldn't lower it too much, or his body wouldn't be able to fight off the infection.

It was a vicious cycle that put the Witcher's life at stake in more ways she could control. After all, if the stitches didn't hold, she could sew him up again, but if the infection was to spread, or the fever couldn't be controlled, Castle was pretty much a dead man ready for the grave.

All she could do was to help him fight it off by himself by keeping the fever high enough to kill the infection but not high enough to kill him. There was no other way. She had tried to contact Triss via megascope, hoping she'd have her own device set up wherever she was, but she either was on the road and the megascope wasn't available, or she wasn't around it when she had called. Multiple times.

She desperately needed her council. She could have tried with Keira, she knew where she was and she was pretty sure she'd find her via megascope in the morning, but Keira Metz wasn't a healer. As skilled as she was, the sorceress had more knowledge of the arcane magic, of elven magic used for transmutation, teleportation and such, not the more practical application of healing. She could have helped, but not to the extent Beckett needed.

Stretching her aching neck, the sorceress dipped a clean cloth in a bowl of cold water, wrung it, then pressed the cold compress on his forehead, throat and the back of the neck. Castle stirred in his sleep at the sudden cool feeling on his overheated, clammy skin, moaned something unintelligible then settled back on the mattress, still as a stone.

At times he would murmur, speak some words in his disturbed sleep. Often she had heard him call for Alexis, his daughter, his mother and a couple of times Meredith, Alexis' mother. From her point of view, it was like he was reliving a memory in which they appeared, a very vivid memory. He woke up once, his glassy eyes fixed on her as she smiled at him, trying to look as reassuring as she could, and wiped the sweat from his brow with her palm. At first he fled from her touch, her hand probably felt icy against his warm skin, but he quickly got used to it and reveled in the sensation, nuzzling his head against her hand to prolong the contact.

Beckett chuckled, softly. "Who knew, you're a cuddler…" she whispered. What had started as a practical gesture to ease some of his discomfort turned into a caress, something meant to sooth his troubled mind and hurting body. She pushed the soggy hair away from his face, combing it back with her fingers, ran her hand down his jaw, traced the old scars and skimmed on the newer ones, careful not to cause more pain or irritation.

Contrary to what she had thought, she found herself enjoying that small physical contact. Usually, she tended to push away her patients or at least deal with them in the fastest way possible, but not this time. Unlike most of her clients, prostitutes excluded, Castle had treated her with a gallantry she had never seen. In the past days, while she worked on the variation of the spell that allowed them to enter Bracken's place without being exposed, he had quietly waited. He had let her work without saying much more than "Here, drink something," while handing her a cup of coffee or herbal tea. He had allowed her to experiment on him, without a huff or chuckle at her failures. He was camped on her couch, downstairs, but kept the place he occupied tidy and neat, unlike the majority of men she had allowed to cross the threshold of her home.

He was a sweet man, beneath the tough shell he wore. Layers and layers of witnessing the worst of the world, having dealt with the most vicious monsters - both literal and metaphorical - the Northern Kingdoms and Skellige Isles could offer, of a lifetime of sacrifice and loss, had built a thick wall around his heart. She wondered how could he retain such kindness, in a world that offered none, to those like him.

Respect, sometimes. Fear, often. Disgust, all the time. Kindness? Never.

Yet, he was one of the kindest men she had ever encountered. Even towards those that despised him for his profession. Unless provoked, of course.

"I wish I had your moral strength," she said, running the tip of her fingers on the soft, strangely unmarred skin of his ear shell. He moaned at that touch, and it sounded more a moan of pleasure than of pain. "You like that?" she asked, as she repeated the movement.

He groaned and shifted a little. "Yeah…" he sighed, the first coherent word in hours. He heaved a long, strained breath and fell asleep again.

Smiling, Beckett leaned closer and kissed his forehead, both to assess his temperature and to reassure him, make him feel that there was a friendly presence close by. He seemed to relax a bit more, the taut tendons of his neck lost some of their rigidity.

He was like a wounded animal, unable to relax completely when hurt. The perks of a job like his.

"Wait here, I'm going make some tea for both of us."

She slowly walked downstairs to the kitchen, stretching her aching back. Saving lives was a strenuous job.

In the dimly lit kitchen, she filled the kettle with some water and put it on the stove. She rummaged in the cabinet just over her head and found a mixture of dried herbs she had prepared some time before, exactly what they both needed. Something that had an energizing effect, thanks to the dried ginger and white myrtle in the mix. And they both needed energy.

She walked back upstairs sipping her own tea while carrying a small tray with another mug, a jar of honey, a small bowl and some bread. Despite the ludicrous banquet that they had attended barely six hours before, Beckett knew, from personal experience, wounds like that required great amounts of simple energy, like sugars, in order to heal properly. He couldn't sit up and drink the beverage, or chew the bread, but there were other way to make unconscious people eat. His swallow reflex was still intact, he had swallowed the antipyretic potion with no issue, he wasn't too far gone, and she had learned that soggy bread sweetened with honey was a good way to administer certain potions or liquids and nutrients.

So there she was, in the middle of the night, spoon-feeding him the sweet mixture. He took it like a champ, even trying to chew on the food though he didn't need to. His reaction to the nearly forced feeding made her relax. If he would eat, things weren't as bad as they looked. Fever had gone down, but hadn't broken yet, but he looked a little better.

Enough that she dared to lay down beside him and catch some sleep, when later she realized that she had been dozing off on the chair beside the bed. You can't save lives if you can't keep your eyes open.

She was briskly woken up not an hour later by the sudden movement of the mattress beneath her. Castle was thrashing on the bed, shaking heavily in the throes of a nightmare fueled by fever.

Still groggy with sleep, Becket checked his forehead and the back of his neck. His temperature had spiked. "Oh for fuck's…" she didn't even finish the imprecation as he jolted again, groaning loudly.

She sat up and tried to push him down on the bed and keep him still. If the sutures on his back burst, things might get extremely bad and dangerous. Not to mention, messy.

The fever was so high he was delirious, what seemed to be peaceful dreams had turned into horrible nightmares. "Castle…" she called him, trying to wake him up. "Castle it's just a dream…"

He repeated long sequence of _no_ , louder and louder until he was screaming. It took all her strength to pin him down, but it wasn't enough. He suddenly sat up, like a spring, screaming like a wounded banshee. "Geralt! Stop!"

Damn. He was dreaming of the Rivian pogroms, when his brother had been killed. From what she knew, that day had been brutal, the murderous crowd had been thirsty for the blood of innocent non-humans and both brothers couldn't allow that. Castle had been lucky enough to be rescued, while his brother had perished, along with her old teacher, and friend, Yennefer.

And if he was reliving those traumatic memories, distorted into something terrifying by pain and high fever, no wonder he was so distraught.

He fought hard against her as she tried to make him lie again on the bed, but even with the superhuman strength, he was too weak and in the end, Beckett managed to make him stay put enough to check his eyes. They were glassy and unfocused, so he wasn't awake or conscious of what was going on around him. It wasn't a hallucination.

She bracketed his face with her hands and gently turned his head towards her. "Castle, listen to me…" she tried to breach the wall the delirious illusion had created in his mind. "Castle, you're safe. You're not in Rivia. You're here with me, with Kate."

He tried to get away from her, grunting with the effort. He looked exhausted, but in his frenzied state, he didn't register it. And apparently he didn't understand her words. She wasn't sure he could hear her, at all.

"Damn you stubborn Witcher…" she groaned. "Castle, wake the fuck up!" she yelled.

Things had evolved into a screaming contest, with Castle calling for his dead brother in a fever-induced nightmare and her trying to wake him up from his delirium. He would hurt himself if she didn't act fast enough.

Neither screaming or slapping worked. He had stopped thrashing against her, but he intermittently jerked, trying to move away from her and an unseen peril, projected in his mind. "Castle…" she tried again, wiping the copious sweat from his face with her hands. "You need to wake up, it's only a bad dream, you're not in danger!" Her voice was stern but calm, soft. She knew delirious patients reacted badly when violently torn from their dreams or visions, and he didn't need that added stress, in his current weakened state.

Nothing worked. He was too far gone in his terrifying fantasy, to be woken by any _normal_ means.

"Well…" she said to herself. "Desperate times call for desperate measures…"

She leaned closer and kissed him. Hard. A breath-stealing, heated kiss, usually reserved for young, legitimate couples in the throes of passion and that would be considered scandalous for an unmarried pair. She meant to stir a completely opposite physical sensation in Castle, in order to distract him from his nightmare. In his dream, he was in pain, grieving his lost brother, definitely not aroused.

It worked better than expected. Within two seconds, he was wide awake and eagerly responding. She felt his arms wrap around her torso, holding her close to him, pulling on her until she was straddling him. And what started out as an extreme measure to wake him from a nightmare, became a full blown makeout session.

She tried to keep it professional, as professional as kissing an unconscious patient like a lover she hadn't seen in years may be, but the moment she felt his tongue gently touching her lips, she melted like a pack of snow under the warm spring sun.

And by all Eternal Fire's shrines, he kissed like a god.

Breathless, Beckett had to pull back. Panting heavily, she looked down at him. He was pale and sweaty, his eyes, though now focused, were still glazed with high fever, but he was conscious, focused, alert. And, from what she could feel beneath the thick duvet, aroused.

She swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat. "Better now?"

Castle, still disoriented from having woken up in such a traumatic way, squinted his eyes and looked up at her. "What happened?" he asked, voice hoarse and raspy, as if he had swallowed gravel.

"You had a nightmare. You were screaming your lungs out and thrashing on the bed like a maniac. I feared you were going to tear the sutures, but I couldn't wake you up," she explained, briefly.

Castle drew a ragged breath and sagged back on the bed. She felt him relax, before he went rigid again. "Gods… the pogroms… Geralt and Yennefer." He turned his head, facing away from her, but she had already seen the tears in his eyes. "I saw them die. Again… like the first time."

"It was a memory," she said, softly. "Stress, pain and weakness tend to bring up bad memories while dreaming, the fever made it look like it was real." She quickly wiped the tears from his eyes and felt him shudder at her touch. "I'm glad you're awake now."

He sniffled, tried to raise his head but apparently it made him dizzy. "Oh…" he groaned. "My head feels like a fallen boulder. It was so real… I had nightmares about that day, but they never felt so authentic…"

The fleeting moment of lucidity brought up by the sudden way he had been woken up was quickly disappearing. His voice was more slurred, his eyes were getting glazed again. She needed to check on him quickly, to retrieve some coherent answers, before fever took over again and he became nearly comatose. Between the infection, the fever, the nightmare and the scare, she was sure he was exhausted just as her. He didn't look like he even recalled being kissed awake.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

He lazily wriggled beneath her as if to make a quick mental check of his body, and she blushed, feeling his hard on pressed against her groin. _God, if that's how it feels beneath the cover, I wonder what's it like without…_

"My back hurts, my stomach hurts, my head hurts and…" she saw a shadow of confusion veil his eyes. "And…" he trailed off, embarrassed, but she knew all too well what he meant.

She swallowed another lump at his interrupted confession and tried to slid off him so she wouldn't press on the wounds on his back, but his arms held her where she was. Not that she minded. "It's the fever," she tried to downplay their predicament. "Totally normal."

"Maybe…" he whispered, his hazy glowing eyes bearing deep in hers. "But that doesn't change the fact that you kissed me." He leaned up and brushed his lips on hers again, slower this time, a more tender kiss, not hot, rushed and desperate.

That felt so good. Better, that felt great. He touched her with a consideration that moved her, with his arms wrapped as tight as his worn out condition, his fingers lazily drawing patterns on the strip of skin left uncovered by her shirt.

Where did that come from? Yes, Castle had flirted with her, on and off, just as she did with him. Wicked smiles and naughty looks here and there, but nothing explicit. Yes, it could have been the fever talking, but…

She was just as aroused. And she wanted him. Bad.

Not now though. He was too weak, it would be too dangerous, not to mention unethical, since he was, after all, incapacitated. Or would it?

Prying his hold on her open, she rolled off him and stood up. "Castle… hold your horse for a moment, this isn't right… you're too weak, we can't…"

He managed to grasp her wrist and pull her close once again, a loopy smile brightening his battered, but apparently happy, face. "I'm stronger than you think…"

"Castle, I spent two hours sewing up your guts, I think I'm the one to judge how strong you are, at the moment," she rebuked, sarcastic.

He tried to take a deep breath, but the damage done to the diaphragm and the area just below his lungs made it a colossal effort. The air caught midway, he was shook by a sudden fit of cough that had him gasp and splutter some blood that stained his lips and chin with dark red blots. "Fuck…" he muttered, writhing in pain. "That hurts…"

Beckett, who was expecting an event of the sorts, pulled a kerchief from a pocket and wiped the stains away. "Told you…" She took what remained of his now cold herbal tea from the nightstand and offered it to him. "Drink, small sips. It'll help."

With her help, he did. Slowly, he emptied the mug. "What is it?" he asked, as she set the cup down again.

"It's a mix of rough, dried ingredients for healing potions and normal tea. There's a little bit of ginger root too, for the taste. Helps boost the immune system and gives energy when sleep deprived, or hurt, like you. It makes no miracles, but it tastes nice and gives some solace when someone needs it."

"Nice…" he commented, but added nothing more. He was slipping into unconsciousness quickly. It was time for another dose of febrifuge.

"Here," she offered him an uncorked vial. "This will keep the fever down to a tolerable level." He drank it all and smirked in disgust. "I know, it tastes bad. But it helps. Try to catch some sleep, Castle, Melitele knows you need it."

"I hadn't pitched you for a person of faith…" he slurred as she tucked him in.

Beckett smiled. "I'm not. But I caught the habit of mentioning the faith of the person I'm treating, and most of my clients are deeply attached to the old religion. It seems to help them." The potion was already working. While his skin was still pale, clammy and warmer than normal, his pulse was back down to a more normal rhythm.

"I'm an atheist, Kate…"

"I figured as much, but allow me to cure you the way I know it works best. Now," she sat beside him on the bed and ran a cloth imbued with cold water on his face again. "You need rest, and possibly a dreamless sleep. You want me to use a spell to shove away nightmares?"

He awkwardly shrugged his shoulders. "Just stay with me, I'll feel better with you close to me."

 _Poor guy,_ she thought. He looked like a scared little boy, so clearly sick and hurting. Weird as it may feel, the knowledge that the great Richard Castle, nicknamed the White Dragon for the ferocity he displayed in combat against monsters and foes knew fear and pain, made her want him more. On a less physical side though.

It was so wrong on so many levels though.

"Alright, I'll stay close. Just give me a moment so I can change. I'll be right there."

He sighed, drowsily, then closed his eyes. "Counting on it."

He fell asleep like a rock, nearly as soon as he settled down. His breathing, though still strained, became even and the slight wheezing sound she could still hear with each intake of air had diminished. He still sounded a little like a seventy year old heavy smoker with permanently damaged lungs, but it was a little better.

As soon as she was sure he was he was fast asleep, Beckett ditched the shirt, boots, socks and trousers then pulled an old, yellowed and definitely oversized shirt from her wardrobe to wear in bed and climbed beneath the duvet. She checked once again for his vital signs, felt his forehead and the back of his neck for his temperature and found everything normal, all things considered. The potion had worked fine enough.

"Are you going to be alright?" she asked, more to herself than to him.

He opened one eye to a slit, just enough that she could that he fared better than she had thought. "I'll manage." He wrapped his fingers around her own and fell unconscious again.

It was more than enough for her to know that he would really manage. Soon, she followed him into a state that, considering how tired she was, could have only be defined as comatose.


	15. One Step Forward Two Steps Back

**Chapter 15 - One Step Forward Two Steps Back**

The moment she woke up, after just four hours of death-like sleep, Beckett couldn't help but grimace in disgust as she took the first conscious gulp of air of the stale air of her bedroom. It stank of acrid flowers, dust, blood and other bodily fluids, mixed up in a disgusting blend that made her gag for a moment. In the dim light that filtered through the drawn curtains, she looked around and, displeased with what she saw, buried her face in her pillow.

She let out a frustrated groan, cursing the day she had decided to quit with the housekeeping service that had kept her house clean for years, in order to spare some money so she could hire a Witcher and find her mother's killer. A Witcher that, after a strange twist of destiny, lay just beside her, recovering from wounds that would have killed a normal human being in ten seconds or less. That man had some resilience.

The amount of dust floating in the air made her sick, no wonder Castle had got an infection from the surgery.

Her lab was pristine clean as it was enchanted to be kept that way, but never in her life had she thought that she'd need to sanitize her own bedroom in order to perform a life-saving surgery in it. Murmuring a couple of words in the elven tongue, she cleaned all the dirt and grime up, telekinetically opened the curtains and window and let some fresh air inside.

Castle didn't even flinch at the swooshing noise created by the sudden disappearance of matter – technically, it hadn't disappeared, it had been translated to the trash bin downstairs – and the opening of the window. He was out cold, oblivious to whatever was going on around him.

She gently touched his forehead and found it pleasantly warm, not scalding hot as the night before. Finally something good to start out what looked like an utterly horrible day. The sky was gray and dark clouds hailed a storm for the late morning or early afternoon, her Captain would soon send someone to check on her since she had skipped three guarding shifts and Castle was in no condition to fight, in case Bracken decided it would be a good idea to come and look for them. No way he'd find the coordinates of arrival of her portal, she was too good at masking them and she was nothing but a crude beginner at using magic, he had no formal training, but if he knew her name wouldn't take much time for a man of his influence to find her. Or send someone looking for her.

If they were lucky enough, nobody would out her. She was in great terms with her colleagues, even Captain Gates had a good opinion on her, and she was too useful to her clients, even the rich ones, for them to reveal the place she lived, or even her name, if Bracken sent out someone with a description.

At least his right and left hands were dead. With Maddox and Coonan out of the pictures, the kaedweni had lost a good chunk of his power on the streets.

The moment she finally found the strength to get out of bed, she did it with a sequence of loud popping from her stiff neck and back. At the sound, Castle murmured something that seemed to regard a clicking ekkimara, but nothing more. He didn't even move.

"I'm going downstairs," she whispered. "To get some breakfast. You need anything?"

"'m fine…" he muttered in his sleep. He seemed out cold, but his mutations and acquired ability to be always alert, even when resting, allowed him to answer her questions with a certain degree of consciousness. "Thirsty."

"You need to eat something though."

"Stomach hurts…"

It made sense. He was now out of the woods, with the wounds stitched and the fever down, but one of the stab wounds had nicked his stomach too. The wound, not too dissimilar from gastric ulcer, and those hurt a lot.

Still, he needed energy. But she had an idea, to make him eat at least a morsel or two. Even that would have been helpful.

On the way downstairs though, she couldn't help but wonder how much the nightmare had affected him. He had seemed to snap out of it rather quick, a couple of tears wiped away in haste probably thanks to her unorthodox method of waking him, but he had marveled about how real it had seemed. Did he dream about that day often or was it just a one-time occasion?

And what exactly had he seen?

She knew, from third party accounts, what had happened that day. Geralt had tried to stop the lynching of a young elf accused of who knows what heinous crime, and that had gotten him nothing but a pitchfork in the guts. Yennefer and Castle had tried to get to him, the sorceress had perished in the vain attempt to revive her lover, while Castle fended off more enraged people trying to get to them. Until someone slashed his chest and upper abdomen open with a cutlass. At that point, Triss had managed to gather a hailstorm that scattered the crowd and allowed Dandelion and Zoltan Chivay to drag Castle to safety. The moment they had returned to look for Geralt and Yennefer, they found only a large pool of frozen blood and no trace of their corpses.

As she thought about more complex matters, she tinkered in the kitchen, preparing her customary coffee and toasted bread while heating some milk – thankfully, she hadn't renounced to the delivery of fresh milk every morning just outside her door too – for Castle. She remembered him having warm milk with roasted and powdered barley for breakfast, and though she didn't have the barley, she added a drop or two of strong coffee to the beverage. She added an abundant spoonful of honey then let it cool down to a drinkable temperature. She toasted some more bread, in case he decided he was up for it, then gathered everything on an old tray and walked upstairs.

She found him awake, though barely. He was half sitting, rubbing his eyes as vigorously as his weakened state would allow him. "Hey, good to see you awake!" she exclaimed, actually happy to see him awake and doing things.

He blinked, then wiped his floppy hair away from his eyes. "It's good to see you, period."

Never in her life had she seen a critical patient flirt with her so early in the morning. "You're flirty in the morning, Castle…"

"When I feel like it…"

"You felt like it even yesterday, if you remember."

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Hey, you kissed me first."

With a low chuckle, she bent down and gave him a quick, playful peck on his lips. "And I did it again. So? What does that make us?"

"Just another ill-assorted couple of a beautiful sorceress and a wretched Witcher, I guess. History repeats itself," he said, a tad of amusement in his raspy voice. "Or so it seems."

"Really?" she asked. "I kiss you to wake you from a nightmare and we're a couple?"

"You just sped things up. I was waiting for this thing to be over to ask you out," he explained. "Kate, you surprised me the moment I lay my eyes on you that night at the tavern. When you approached me…" She couldn't help but smile as she recalled the night he had thought she was an aggressor and had nearly killed her, while stark naked. "… for the contract, I didn't take it because of the money, I wasn't even going to charge you at the end. It was just a better way to get to know you than trying to approach you in a filthy place like that. Also, I had no idea you were a sorceress, even if I had my suspects, so I wasn't sure you'd want to know a Witcher."

His sincere concern for her opinions and the tact he was showing by not making any moves except for minor flirting before the contract was fulfilled made her heart swell with joy. Castle was probably the most caring man she had ever met. Not even her father cared so much for her feelings.

"Listen Castle, I… I like you. A lot, actually. But I'm not sure we could work as a couple I mean… I've never been able to keep a story from falling apart in the span of a few months, a year tops. Your line of work and mine would only make things worse and…"

He took her hand and smiled. "Don't think so far in the future. Take a step a day, let's see where we can go. We might even find out it's only unresolved lust and we just want someone to warm our bed for a couple of nights. No pressure. When I said we were a couple, I meant it as a joke, I didn't mean to take you down to the City Hall and marry you before the sun goes down."

At least there was that. She felt suddenly relieved that he wasn't going to push anything on her, and that if she wanted to back out she could. "Just… let's take it easy. Let's finish with Bracken, put him in jail and then we'll see."

He nodded. "Everything you want, Kate. I'll do my best not to act like an ass, like my brother."

She giggled, softly, recalling the awkward way Geralt had tried to ease his way in her bed, ages before, while he was on a break with Yennefer. And speaking of her old mentor… "I just hope you don't hold the same opinion on me as Yennefer's. You seemed to be pretty bitter about that."

He laughed, and the heartfelt burst of hilarity made her heart swell with joy. "Oh, don't worry, Yennefer's bitchiness will forever go unmatched. She will hold the record of bitchiness for all time, I can assure you." She handed him his cup of now warm milk. "Oh. You made me breakfast?"

"I asked you, not half an hour ago if you wanted something, and you said your stomach hurt. I think you need some nourishment though, so I made you breakfast all the same. There's toasted bread too, if you want it. How do you feel?"

He shrugged as he took a sip. "Like a wreck. But I feel better than five years ago, you can rest easy. It won't take a month of nursing to get me back on my feet. I'll be fine in a couple of days, I think."

"Let me judge that Castle," she stated, dunking a piece of toast in her coffee. "I don't want you to go out and rip the stitches until your liver and intestines take a peek outside your peritoneal sack."

"Ah, gory descriptions of ghastly wounds before breakfast, I knew you were the woman of my life."

She grunted, a bit frustrated as he looked like he was taking his wounds such a playful way. "Castle, you were a little bit more subtle with the flirting in the past days, where does this come from?"

Castle set the cup on the nightstand and looked down at the stark white bandages around his mid-section, picking at a loose strand. "I'm intoxicated; potions tend to have that effect on me. It's as if I'm drunk, I have no filter. Everything I think, I say it. And you didn't help last night, with that kiss. By the way, thank you for getting me out of that nightmare. It's been ages since I saw that night and I'm not used to it anymore."

"What did you see?"

He shrugged again, his face twisted with sorrow and grief, among the physical pain he was still experiencing. "The pogrom. Geralt launching ahead of that young elf before they gutted him alive. The pitchfork hitting him, blood spurting everywhere… Yennefer trying to save him as I was being dragged away, covered in blood and with my torso nearly slashed open from one corner to the other…" He gently traced the top of the long scar that crossed his chest, peeking from the new bandages. "Same old song, as Dandelion would say."

"Does it still hurt?"

"What? Geralt's death?" She nodded. "Sometimes. I miss him. In the past, we were more closer, we kind of drifted apart when I almost settled down in Oxenfurt and he kept chasing Yennefer's skirts. Every time he was around town, he would come and visit, stay for a week or two to rest a bit on a decent bed… we'd talk, laugh, and have fun together like the old days, but her shadow ways loomed on him," he explained, slowly. His voice was a little strained and he often stopped to catch his breath, but he was faring way better than she'd thought, everything considered. "He knew what I thought about her, but he was just as headstrong as a goat, he wouldn't listen to me."

Beckett smiled behind her nearly empty cup of coffee. "Sounds familiar."

He shot her a groggy look, but didn't comment further and went forward with his tale. "After I went back on the road, we grew close once again, travelling together for a while. He exploited me for my academic knowledge of monsters, while he did the dirty job. He was more famous than me, he could push for a higher price for the contracts we took. That allowed us to live an adventurous life for a while as I rebuilt my reputation across the Northern Kingdoms. In Oxenfurt, Velen and Novigrad I was more famous than him, but outside that area, I was a nobody, while he was almost a god."

"You're more famous as Richard Rogers, though."

"Doesn't matter much, when you're haggling a better price for the extermination of a pack of drowners. No one wants to hear the stories of Derrick Storm when they can't go and work their fields because there's a monster nest in there."

"Have you ever thought of retiring? You said you purchased an abandoned lighthouse in Skellige, you could just… I don't know… Settle there."

"And give up on being a Witcher? Nah… it doesn't work like that. Would you give up magic?" She shook her head. "I can't give it up, being a Witcher, it's who I am, I can't do anything about it."

He was right. Just as she was a sorceress down to the bone, he was a monster slayer. She would never give it up, not even for all the gold in Novigrad - and that was a lot of gold - and she had been a sorceress for a lot less than he had been a Witcher. He was only two years younger than Geralt, and if he'd been alive, he would have been nearly 95. That made Castle 93 or close to that age.

"You're right," she admitted. "You're damn right. Are you hungry? You want something else?" She wanted to steer away from such gloomy thoughts as quickly as possible. He didn't seem to mind, by the sudden lightening of his face.

"No, I'm fine with this. I don't even think I could keep anything solid down anyway."

"Let's wait until lunch for solid food. Can you turn on your side? I want to check the wounds and change the bandages. Your fever's down right now, but I don't want a relapse of the infection."

"Oh sure." With a little bit of effort, not to mention a good amount of pain, he turned around, facing away from her so she could have free access to his back.

Beckett immediately shifted into her medic role and took a good look at the once white bandages. The infected wounds had suppurated and a large stain of red-yellow pus had formed. There was enough fluid that it actually soaked through and stained the old towel she had placed beneath him too. The skin around felt warm to the touch, but not excessively so, as the worst of the infection was now gone. Pulling back the cloth of one of the bandages, she slipped in the blade of a scalpel she had left on the nightstand the night before, enough to cause a small tear in the thick, clean canvass, then ripped the strips. That avoided moving Castle too much.

She gently tugged at the bandages to detach them from his skin, and felt a slight resistance to it. He grunted and his muscles stiffened. "Does that hurt?"

"A little."

The suppurating fluids had dried to the point they were almost glued together and stuck to his irritated skin, no wonder it hurt. Using a discarded bottle from last night's efforts to keep Castle alive, she gathered some water from the bowl beside her and carefully poured enough water on the filthy bandages to soak them through, making removal way easier for her and less painful for him. After that move, they came off like they had never been stuck, much to Castle's relief.

The sutures looked gnarly and jagged, because of the extreme conditions of the surgical operation that had caused them, the skin was reddened and raised, dirty at times with yellowish, dried pus, but they didn't look too bad. She felt again the skin around the stitched stab wounds and it was a little warmer than the rest of his body, but not alarmingly so.

"How is it going?" he asked.

"You've got a new set of scars incoming," she said, quite matter-of-factly. "But you're not doing bad. Considering how you looked yesterday, you're doing magnificently."

"Was I so far gone?"

She shrugged, even though he couldn't see her. "You're not the worse patient I had, but so far, you're the only one that came to my table with both hepatic vein and inferior vena cava punctured that ever survived more than thirty seconds. After all, you're the only Witcher with such wounds I ever treated, so… I'm not that impressed."

"You so know how to make a poor wounded man feel appreciated."

"Oh, you're appreciated enough, Castle, don't worry about that."

"Just wait until I'm healed enough and you'll appreciate me way more." Another glimpse of the genetic material he shared with Geralt, and some typically Witcher-style boasting. "I'm sorry, I should shut up."

"Don't censor yourself on my account, it's kind of flattering, you know," she explained as she washed his wounds with abundant alcohol. "It's been a while since a man actually showed he cared for me, except for my father."

"I thought you had a line of rabid men outside your door! I mean, a man should be either blind or extremely homosexual not to notice you! Even Bracken had at least a fleeting moment of lust when he saw you in that dress, yesterday."

She chuckled, softly, as she considered his words. "I wouldn't know Castle, it's not like I have much spare time, between the official job and the illegal practice of medicine I do at night. Also, I tend to hang out with people that know I am a sorceress, and except for a few close friends, they tend to steer away from me."

"They're idiots," he stated, a straight remark that made her smile. It was sweet of him, to talk about her that way while she was pouring disinfectant on his wounds, and she was sure it burned like a magic flame. And magically invoked flames burned hotter than the usual peat or wood fire.

"There was someone, years ago. A new recruit of the Blue Stripes, you know… Temerian Special Forces."

"Oh yes…" he replied, a hint of a grimace in his tight voice. "I know their general, Vernon Roche. Nice fellow. Plays Gwent like a shark, but never managed to beat me."

"You must be a strong player then, with an amazing deck, he's forbidden to enter the major tournaments in Temeria, because he's too good. Anyway… we dated for a while, but he decided he preferred the life in the military over me."

Castle let out a grunted series of insults to the unknown ex, but otherwise said nothing. "He disappeared six years ago, while on a secret mission in Aedirn. For what I know, he could be dead, or a deserter."

"Either way, he's an idiot, a pansy and a fuckin' moron. Are you done?"

She wiped the last few drops of clean alcohol from his skin. "Yes, I'm done. Don't move for a while, let the sutures dry up a little bit. They'll heal faster and better."

"You think I can stand for a while? I need to take a trip to the toilet."

"You feel up to it?" she asked, looking over his back to see his face. She had to admit he was looking a lot better, his face, though naturally pale because of the albinism brought by the intensive mutations, had lost that gray shadow of near-death. Maybe he could do it. "I can find you a chamber pot, if you want."

"No fuckin' way, I haven't used a chamber pot in nearly ninety years and I won't start now because a prick decided it would be cool to stab me in the back." He rolled until he was lying prone on the bed, then rolled again on the other side, to face her. If he could do that, he may have some chances to reach the toilet downstairs too. "Now… will you help me stand?"

It had been a long, excruciating road, to have him sitting up straight and then stand up on wobbly legs, but he managed to walk downstairs with her help and, as he had said, piss like a man and not like a child.

 _Men and their egos…_ she thought, amused by his steadfast refusal to choose the easy way. Maybe years and years of hardship had shaped his habits to the point that having things made easy for him felt weird. Beckett doubted any other man, no matter how strong in body or stubborn, would have ditched the chamber pot, if it meant not to walk down a set of stairs and then out in the brisk, cool air of a cloudy spring morning.

But there he was, exhausted and sweaty, but with a relieved bladder and dressed. He had insisted on not returning straight to bed, which made him feel like an old, crippled man. He wanted to go back to work and find a way to take Bracken down. They had his journals, it wouldn't be too hard after all.

But the moment Beckett took Bracken's journals downstairs from the desk in her bedroom, where she had set them the night before, they found them completely empty.

Gasping in disbelief, Castle rubbed his eyes as if to wake up from a dream. "But… you saw the writings on them, right?"

"Of course I did! These two were full," she explained waving at the more weathered journals. "Even the last page was written. This one is more recent, it apparently had the last two or three years of recordings on his victims on it."

"Could your shrinking spell have tampered with them? You cast it in a hurry, maybe you got it wrong, while you were under pressure."

She vehemently shook her head. "No, it's an idiot-proof spell, and a well-tested one. It doesn't tamper with anything."

He sighed, groaning a little when the deep breath he took stretched his wounds. "Fuck… Did you look at them before you went to sleep? Were they still written?"

She nodded. "Yes, I rifled through them yesterday, right after I took the shrinking spell off. They were fine! And stop twitching like that, you'll hurt yourself again."

"The stitches itch, can't do much about it. Let me think…" He took a ledger in his hands and examined it more closely, looking carefully through the first few pages. "I don't understand. Could he have put a spell on them, so if they were taken away from the dungeon they would look empty as when first purchased?"

She shrugged. The idea was plausible. "I suppose he could have. I mean, he has a very basic knowledge of magic, no formal training, but he knows enough to formulate spells to torture people. He could have bound the ledgers to his dungeon, make them readable only there… the fact that even hours after I had taken them away they were still readable could be caused by his rudimental spell-crafting ability."

"Do you think you can overcome that kind of enchantment?"

"I'd need to know the very words he used to enchant them, I can't just go blindly, I'd risk burning them and we'd lose the only evidence we have against him. He probably already has cleaned his dungeon, made it look like a normal wine cellar instead of a torture chamber."

"Fuck… we're fucked."

Beckett took a moment to think before replying. Castle was still in a great deal of pain, he was exhausted and probably a little depressed because of the intoxication caused by the potions, but she was still reasoning. Thinking while under pressure wasn't exactly her forte, but at least there was nothing but the sheer will to take Bracken down to distract her. It was more than enough to distract her, probably just as he was being distracted by the pain of his healing wounds, but at least he wasn't intoxicated.

"I've come to understand that you're a frequent client of whorehouses, am I right?"

He threw her a disgusted look. "No!" he yelled, with a high-pitched voice that made her eardrums vibrate stronger than ever. "I would never… I go there to ask questions about monsters, you know prostitutes frequent the dankest corners of a city and…"

He suddenly realized what she had been thinking about, hence her question. His eyes lit up and he smiled. "You're thinking of what I'm thinking?"

"If you're thinking about…"

"Slander!" they exclaimed at the same time.

"Then I'm thinking what you're thinking," she completed the sentence.

"You want to use Carmen and her girls to spread the suspect among the population in order to have them riot against him?" he asked, interested in her plan.

"That's the idea, yes. But not only Carmen, I have friends among other prostitutes and high-end escorts too. You know… they often need my services and they have become loyal customers, I only need to talk to one of them and the rumor is out. Ready to be spread."

Rumors were a powerful tool, if they were lucky, the news would be spread so fast among the population that in the span of a couple of days, they'd have a full blown riot taking place against the kaedweni envoy. And with him being an outsider and not a pure born temerian, but most of all being a person that scared the crap out of most of the common folk with his attempt to force conversion to the Eternal Fire, there was a chance they'd achieve a nicely sized riot to unleash against Bracken. If the population caused enough stir, they were going to attract some attention at court. Because only King Foltest was allowed to strip diplomats of their immunity and they needed a crossbow bolt-proof case against them.

The rumors would be only the first step, it would take at least a couple of days for the rumors to spread wide enough that people would actually start believe in them and consider them news. Meanwhile, Beckett was planning to find more evidence other than the ledgers, by either making them readable or by trespassing again in Bracken's manor to find more incriminating evidence.

Even if it was the last thing she ever did.


	16. Help Comes From Unthinkable Sources

**Chapter 16 - Help Comes From Unthinkable Sources**

Beckett kept Castle under tight surveillance for a few more hours before she decided his conditions were stable enough to be left alone so she could put their plan in motion. It was already late in the afternoon, the sun was going down behind the mountain in the west and the streets were dark and shadowy, as the lanterns hadn't been lit yet.

Wrapped in a maroon cloak with the cowl pulled down to cover her face, the sorceress sped through the still bustling streets until she reached Carmen's brothel. The whorehouse was an institution in Vizima, as it was the only place where the unprivileged could find a decently-priced prostitute, and of course the place was already working at its greatest capacity.

The other brothel, the House Of The Queen Of The Night, rarely started serious business until well after dinner as they also offered refreshments and sometimes banquets for their clients. For that reason, Beckett had decided to head to Carmen's establishment first, as she knew that as the night proceeded, things would get extremely busy and she'd never have the chance to speak to the madame.

When she entered, she found a small crowd of men of different social extractions waiting for their turn, sitting on the crude chairs or standing up in the foyer. Some looked impatient, with their feet restlessly tapping the floor, darkened by years of abuse but otherwise clean. Others were calmer, patiently waiting their turn.

On the far end of the foyer a young girl with dark chestnut hair and eyes, short, slender and modestly draped in a flowing and quite covering purple dress that felt out of place in a brothel, acted as receptionist. She welcomed the sorceress with a bright smile, clearly recognizing her. Kate had no idea who the girl was, but apparently they had met before.

"Officer Beckett, it's good to see you again. How are you doing?"

"Could be worse dear. You?"

"Oh, since you got me rid of the clap, everything is fine." So she was the girl that Carmen had sent about two weeks earlier to cure gonorrhea then, Maryleen. "How can I help you?"

"I need to speak to Carmen, is she in?"

"She is, but she's currently working. She has six more clients booked after this, it might take a while before she's free. Is it an urgent matter?"

It was, but Carmen had a job and Beckett felt extremely bad about interrupting her while she was working. Their plan needed time to be explained, she couldn't expose it while the madame took care of cleaning herself up before the next man.

"No, it's not. I just wanted to talk to her about your checkup, it's almost that time of the year, remember?" The girl nodded. "I wanted to arrange a day with her to come here and take a good look at you girls. Just… tell her I came and let her know that I'll wait for her when she's done, at my place. She can come tomorrow too, after she rested."

"I will, don't worry. Have a nice night, Officer."

Beckett smiled at the eagerness of the girl. Now the memories were coming back. She was really young, Carmen had recruited her when she had found her trying to sell herself on the streets for some food and water, battered and broken by the strain of poverty. The madame had fed and cleaned her up then had called for the help of the healer to check on her. She wasn't older than sixteen, still worked on reduced hours and mainly did housekeeping work, more than whoring, but she seemed as happy as a woman forced to sell herself could be. "Call me Kate. I'll see you in a few days then."

She tried then with the Queen Of The Night, in the trader quarter. The posh brothel was better furnished, lit with beeswax candles and fortunately didn't smell like oil and burnt tallow, but the clientele felt more slimy than a slug. Politicians, local nobles, well-to-do merchants and rich travelers took advantage of the services of the House, and most of them were the scum of the earth, more than the criminals she chased and arrested for petty theft or murder. Those men were the cause of many of the crimes she fought against. But since they were rich and powerful, they couldn't be touched or arrested.

When she entered in the brothel, she was run over by the thick smoke of scented incense mixed with tobacco from the pipes. The bouncer, a stout man with incipient balding and a thick, scruffy beard stopped her before she could step outside the foyer. "Whe' d'ye think ye're goin'?" he asked with slurred accented voice.

"I'm here to see the Queen. She knows who I am."

Right on cue, the owner of the establishment appeared on the doorstep, behind the bouncer. "Let her in, Axel. She's a friend."

Grumbling like a pot on the stove, the man moved and let Kate pass through inside the main hall of the brothel. There, she found a few known faces and a good deal of strangers waiting for their turn, keeping themselves entertained with feigned polite conversations over gourmet food and spirits. The Queen led her upstairs to her _office,_ or better the luxurious suite where she worked. She set at her desk and invited Beckett to make herself comfortable on a leather armchair on the other side. "Can I offer you anything, Kate?"

"You still have that whisky you offered the last time I was here?"

The woman smiled and pulled a bottle and two glasses from a cabinet right behind her. She poured the drink and offered the glass to the sorceress. "Thank you."

They clinked their glasses together and took a sip of the spirit, enjoying the warmth in their throat and stomach brought by the alcohol. "What do you need Kate?"

"First and foremost, how are things here?"

The madame smiled, though faintly. "As good as a brothel run by a vampire can go, with the Eternal Fire gaining approval in the city."

"But the spell is holding, right?" enquired the sorceress. "The soldiers of the Order are leaving you be?"

"Yes, they are, but I don't know how long your spell will hold. It's strong but I can feel it falter sometimes, most of all in the last couple of days."

Beckett nodded. "There's something big going on, magically speaking. And that's why I'm here. We've found the monster responsible for the murders of the last twenty years."

The eyes of the woman in front of her, slightly dulled with boredom, suddenly were ignited by a spark of curiosity. "Tell me more."

"Well… one of the victims was my mother and I've been trying to find the bastard for years. But between my job and everything… I realized I needed a Witcher, if I wanted to catch a monster, so I hired one. And he found the monster."

"So that's what the rumors are about."

"What rumors?" asked Beckett.

"That someone's been poking around the sewers and then something exploded, with chunks of monsters coming out of the drains."

Beckett rolled her eyes and sagged a little on the high backed chair. "Yes, that was us, but we didn't find the monster there. We found it at William Bracken's manor, in his dungeon of horrors."

She could read the disbelief on the otherwise marble-like features of the vampire in front of her. "Now that's what you call strange. What happened?"

She told the story, down to the goriest detail, she just kept for herself the fact that Castle was wounded and alone at her place. That was a rumor they didn't want to spread.

"So, why are you here?"

"We can't target Bracken directly, but we can try to drag him down from his pedestal and make him a target for the justice system by popular demand. We just need a certain piloted rumor to spread through the population, in order to cause a misstep on his part, so we could take him."

The Queen Of The Night seemed not only intrigued but also eager to put the plan in motion. Bracken had been the architect behind the coming of the Eternal Fire in town, and that had thwarted her business. More pious followers of the doctrine, less clients seeking lust in her establishment. She had all the motives to help them in their quest for justice.

Once they had made up a lie that could be sold without people thinking about it too much before spreading it, Beckett remained a little longer to check on the spell she had cast on the whole building months prior. The brothel was operated by a law-abiding higher vampire and hosted a number of her counterparts and the Eternal Fire would probably call for a lynching mob with torches and pitchforks to eradicate them all if they discovered they were vampires.

Since the girls often helped the guards by gathering rumors and sometimes interrogating witnesses in their stead, when circumstances required it, and when the Eternal Fire had started gathering more consensus, the Queen had asked for help. Beckett had come to their rescue and cast a spell on the building that would mask the supernatural nature of its inhabitants. She checked on the spell integrity from time to time, and she took a moment, before heading home, to do it.

She finally managed to close the front door of her house behind her long after the sun had set behind the mountains. She sagged against the solid wood surface with a sight. The lack of sleep of the past few days was taking its toll on her and she was exhausted.

But before succumbing to the flattery of sleep and her comfortable bed, she had a patient to check. Rubbing the drowsiness away from her eyes, Beckett walked through the foyer and into the living room. She had left Castle sitting at the table in her kitchen with a cup of tea in one hand and a book on masking spells borrowed from her library in the other as he did the only thing he could in his current conditions, and that was research.

She now found him curled on his side on the couch in her living room, wrapped in a ragged wool wrap, fast asleep. Around him, more thick tomes were scattered, on the floor and the short table in front of him. There was a ledger, opened on it, with notes scrawled on its pages, cheap quill and homemade ink in the well beside it. He had spent the past few hours studying, doing the opposite a man of his profession would usually do, before he had succumbed to weariness and had fallen asleep.

She knelt beside the couch and looked at him. For a man that not even twenty four hours before had risked not only death by bleedout but also infection, he looked pretty good. A bit pale maybe, but that was probably the terrible light of the flickering candle in the corner of the table behind her. Otherwise, he looked healthy, everything considered. And sleep would surely speed up his recovery, but he couldn't sleep on the couch curled up like that, the skin of his back was pulled too tight and the sutures could burst. At that point the wounds were already healed, considering his boosted healing abilities and the potions, but better safe than sorry.

"Castle, wake up," she called, running her fingers through his floppy hair, moving the sweaty strands away from his his eyes. He shuddered and opened one eye. His gaze was slightly hazed, she didn't know if it was caused by weariness or fever. He didn't feel warmer than normal though, so she opted for sleep.

"Kate what…" he looked around and moved to sit up but she stopped him with a gentle but firm hand on his cheek.

"You fell asleep while I was out."

"Oh…" he groaned. "I'm sorry."

She smiled. "No need to be sorry. Listen, I didn't manage to speak to Carmen, she was working, but I've come to an agreement with the Queen Of The Night. She'll help us."

He fell back against the thin pillow propped on the armrest of the couch and sighed. "Good. Damn I'm tired. Never in my life I have fallen asleep on books, and look at me now!"

"You've been through a lot in the past couple of days. You think you can stand and walk upstairs? You'll sleep better in bed."

In that moment, his stomach decided it was time to let everyone in the room known that Castle hadn't eaten anything filling enough in the past twenty four hours. He suddenly blushed, while she couldn't help but giggle at the sound.

"Are you hungry?" He nodded. "You think you can stand solid food now?"

"I don't feel bad. I mean, I'm not yet healed completely, but I feel like I can _at least_ eat something more nourishing that warm milk and plain bread for fuck's sake."

"Alright. But the moment if you feel something out of the ordinary, stop eating and tell me, I don't want the acid in your stomach to ooze through the sutures and burn you gizzards. Understood?"

Groggily, Castle followed her in the kitchen and silently waited until she was finished making a suitable dinner with what she found in the pantry. True to his word, he had taken the liberty to refill her stocks of food while she had been working on the illusion, but never in his life he had even thought about the possibility of ending the infiltration attempt with a hole in his stomach, so there wasn't much that he could actually keep down.

At least he liked porridge enough to be happy to eat it for dinner.

"So, what did it take you to convince the Queen Of The Night to help us?" he asked halfway through his bowl.

"What do you mean _what did it take me_? I just explained the situation and she agreed with me, Bracken is dangerous for her business too you know?"

"Aye, I know…" she noticed a slight, passing grimace on his face as he chewed, but everything seemed fine. "It's just… The Queen Of The Night is a very secretive woman from what I've heard, how did you even had her let you in her brothel?"

"We have an agreement," she revealed. "She and the girls help us with our investigations and we keep hecklers out of her place. And _I_ do a little bit of side work on her account, from time to time, enchanting things here and there."

He shrugged. "You've got a weird clientele. What could a sorceress do for a bunch of vampire prostitutes?"

"I keep the human ones healthy and the Eternal Fire away from the building," she rebutted. "And how do you even know she's a vampire?"

Castle chuckled and smiled. "I may have done some work for her too, in the past. She's an authority here, you know."

"She was. The moment the Eternal Fire started taking hold, her business plummeted. She manages to keep open because of rich travelers, but the Queen Of The Night has been demoted to countess a while ago," she explained. "How do you feel?"

He shrugged. "I've been better, but I've also been a lot worse. You did a good job, truly. I've had more experienced healers do a lot worse than you did. Thank you."

"I just did my job, no need to thank me. I should be the one to thank you, getting hurt so bad to help me."

"It's a risk it was worth to take." He barely managed to repress a deep yawn that twisted his face in such a funny way Beckett couldn't help but smile. He drew a deep breath, as if to test his healing body and, satisfied with the result, let it out. The wheezing sound he had emitted with each breath was gone, a good sign that the fluid compressing his lung was gone. "Damn, I need a drink."

"Out of question Castle, the porridge was already a great concession."

He grunted and slumped his shoulders. "Alright, I get it. I guess I'll just go to sleep then."

"Now, that's a good idea."

With much less effort than what it had taken them to go down, she helped him climb the stairs. Once up there, he moved much better, but the stairs were still a bit of a problem. Slowly and panting a little bit, he sat on the edge of the bed. "Never felt so much in need of a bed like right now."

Beckett heard him flop on the mattress with a sigh, while she started her bedtime routine. After all she, was just as tired, for different reasons though, and the thought of a long night of sleep was more than welcomed. "That bad?"

He grunted in response. "I shouldn't have studied all those tomes on the couch. Not after being stabbed, at least."

"Not exactly the smartest thing to do in your condition. Did you learn anything?"

"A list of probable spells he used as inspiration to formulate his own." She heard the loud thump of his boots falling on the floor. "I learned a lot about concealing spells though. Fascinating, how many possibilities you magicians have to alter the way we perceive reality."

True. Many people never realized how much magic is involved in their lives. Magicians modified reality so often, through illusions, divination or even a simple warping spell that transferred matter from a place to another, that even the simplest, bucolic meadow was soaked with magic.

And so much magic led to the birth of monsters. A vicious cycle that had led many people distrust even the most humble magicians that spent their lives helping others. Not every mage or sorceress aspired to a place as court wizard or counselor for a king, others discovered that they loved history of magic and worked as a scholar all their lives, others, like her, felt their path was set on becoming healers. There were those who only dealt in arcane magic, those who studied the basics but never went farther than chemistry and became great alchemists.

Too bad people didn't understand that and targeted the whole category for the fuckups of a minority.

"Did you find anything to counteract the spell?" she asked as she fought with the buttons of her shirt to get out of it.

"Not really. They were all bounding spells, we need to find the thing or place Bracken bound the ledgers to. That's it." He paused for a long moment, while he wiggled on the bed to find a more comfortable position. "You coming?"

She finally managed to take off the shirt and threw it back at him. He started laughing when the garment fell on his face, and she followed his burst of hilarity as she wore the old, worn shirt she had used to sleep last night. "Yes, I'm coming," she replied, finally turning towards him just in time to catch the shirt midair after he had tossed it back to her.

He looked good, extremely relaxed for a man that had been used as a human pincushion just a day before. He lay on his back, a hand behind his neck against the pillow, with a goofy smile brought on by somnolence and the remnants of the poisoning from the potions, he looked younger and more careless.

He had something, beneath the scars and the stubble, that made him kind of ruggedly handsome.

She blew the candles and pulled the curtains to shut out the light from the city the next morning, then climbed on the bed beside him. She couldn't help but release a long, loud sigh of relief when she finally lay horizontally without worrying about him dying beside her from the fever.

"You alright?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes, it's just the weariness that's taking its toll. It's not like I've slept much these past few days."

"I've seen ascetics last less on a non stop prayer vigil. How do you do that?"

"Years of training at the academy, the odd shifts with the guards and personal predisposition for insomnia, pulling all nighters comes naturally for me."

"Good for you," he murmured. "If I skip one night of sleep, I'm grumpy and uncoordinated for a week. I don't really know how you can do it. Geralt was like you."

"I thought you Witchers didn't need to sleep, that your meditation trance was more than enough."

"Sleep, meditation, call it the way you like. I need to rest, most of all after I chased a pack of drowners or… pick a monster of your choice, for hours." He rubbed his eyes with his palm. "I hate healing. You can't believe how tired I feel, and I didn't do anything all day!"

Beckett giggled and gently swatted his chest with the back of her hand. "You healed ten times faster than any normal human being, you did way more than you think." She paused for a moment. "I'm still amazed you're alive, with the terrible job I did on you."

"Well, my gutter's still inside me, right? You did better than the average." He sneaked an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him, until she clashed against his toned chest and he kissed her forehead. "Thank you."

She went rigid the moment his strong hold forced her to lie against his side and shoulder. She didn't expect that.

"Castle… what are you doing?"

"Cuddling…" he whispered against her hair.

"I'm not a cuddler…" she tried to lie, but her faltering voice made the lie extremely detectable.

"Liar." Just goes to show. "But I am a cuddler, and I'm the wounded one here. I think I deserve some good cuddle time."

About twenty four hours earlier, she had kissed him with the greatest purpose, and now a simple hug was causing her more rigidity than lockjaw. She couldn't understand her own behavior.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax against him. Easier said than done, but after a while, she managed not to feel like a log of wood, and in consequence, he relaxed more. By the time she was feeling more at ease with the whole situation, still baffled that she had felt so awkward by his sudden need of physical contact, Castle was already asleep.

His breaths were deep and even and he snored a little bit. A soft purr, not nearly loud enough to be annoying, that made him sound like a happy little kitty that had just found a cozy place to fall asleep.

And cozy they were, huddled up beneath the thick duvet to keep the chill of early spring away, the fire still burning bright and warm in the hearth and a crazy amount of protective and guarding spells thrown over the whole house, just for safety.

The first real night of sleep both of them would get in what seemed an eternity.

With the sudden feeling of security that crept up her spine the moment Castle unconsciously moved his hand from her shoulder down to her back, as if to protect her from any harm that could come up from behind.

Releasing the last of the tension with a sigh of relief, Beckett wrapped her own arm around his chest, relishing in the feel of his warm skin against her own and quickly relinquished her hold on consciousness, falling asleep like a careless baby.


	17. My Heart The Barless Prison

**Chapter 17 - My Heart The Barless Prison**

Something dragged her away from her peaceful, well deserved sleep. Wrapped up in a cocoon of clean sheets and thick blankets, Kate revelled in the possibility of sleeping in and forgetting about her guard duty. After so many missed shifts without giving a justifiable reason, she doubted she still had a job.

But the chance to stay in bed longer than usual wasn't what was bothering her, at all. It happened, from time to time, so it wasn't what she found amiss. In her drowsy state, still fighting with her own body and mind to go back to sleep and be a lazyass for a while longer, she realized quite well that something was off.

It was too warm.

Even if it was already springtime and she had left the fire burning in the hearth the night before, which was surely extinguished by now, she felt too warm. And she was on the wrong side of the bed.

Something was wrong.

Then she recalled what had happened the night before, when she and Castle had retired, how awkward she had felt when he had pulled her against him, citing the need for some cuddles.

She had fallen asleep on his chest shortly after him, lulled by the heat radiating from his body beneath her cheek, and through the night they hadn't moved much. They had only moved on their sides, with Castle behind her and his arms tightly wrapped around her torso. She could feel his even breaths against the back of her neck, puffing little gusts of warm air that tickled like a subtle summer breeze.

Bizarre as it could be, Beckett felt safe and protected for the first time in years since she had decided to leave the life devoted to sorcery and the safety it often brought with itself. Her colleagues and friends had told her it was an ill-advised decision, that faking a normal life as a city guard was a very bad idea, and with time she had realized that they were right.

It kind of sucked.

But despite the oddity of the whole situation - because no matter how many times she thought about it, they were stuck in a very odd predicament considering how things had started - she was enjoying to the last bit.

She smiled to herself, as she traced a faded scar on the inside of his arm. The jagged line was probably caused by the claw of a monster, considering how badly it had healed. She heard him puff out a long breath when she skimmed the scarred skin where the wound must have been deeper.

Goodness, only his left arm had more scars than some war veterans she had treated during the years had over their whole body. She wondered how could his face still be so clean, unless she counted the small scar on the bridge of his nose, the sign of a broken nose in a bar brawl, more than a monster trying to eat his face.

Every mark on his body was the sign of a battle, and three jagged lines had just been added because of her.

And he wasn't even going to accept the payment, he had said. Because the contract had allowed him to approach her when he didn't really have the courage to do so.

Silly man. He was probably the bravest man she had ever met and yet he was afraid to talk to her.

Her fingertips feathered down to his wrist and the palm of his hand. Years of swordfight had rendered the skin thick and calloused, while alchemy had caused more than one burn. The skin beneath his thumb was covered with a thick network of burned and regenerated tissue, while the pads of his index and middle fingers were yellowed by celandine tincture, one of the main ingredients of Witchers healing potions. It was a common practice among alchemists to dip their fingers in the brewing potions to test if they were ready. Celandine extract left almost indelible stains on clothes, skin and glassware, no wonder he had such stains too on his non-dominant hand.

It's amazing how much you can learn about someone by looking at their hands. And Castle's hands showed a lot about him, like an open book on his life.

As she passed a finger over the sensitive skin of his pinky and outer palm, he stirred behind her and pulled her closer, until her back was tightly pressed against his chest. Suddenly, she felt a surge of heat rising from her chest to her face and she blushed, thinking about how only the thin tissue of her shirt separated them.

That was the closest she had been to a man in months. Maybe more than a year.

The dry spell was suddenly making itself known and that was quickly taking its toll on her, she had to admit it, and being so close to Castle, both literally and metaphorically, only made things worse.

He had spoken of taking things slowly, just the day before, and she had agreed to it, but in that moment, still drowsy and half asleep, her body was taking control over her rational mind. The heat that had suddenly made her blush, pooled in the pit of her stomach, making her guts wrench in a terrifying mix of need and denial. And she couldn't find a way to get rid of the lewdest thoughts she ever had over a man, while trying to repress the realization that she had fallen for him.

In her quest for her mother's killer she had almost completely denied herself the simple pleasures of life, feelings included. So concentrated she was, that in the end she had nearly forgot that she was a human being with other needs outside justice. Not that she had completely forgot, but she had definitely neglected some aspects of her life. Some _important_ aspects of her life, if she had to be honest with both herself and the rest of the world. Her own heart had become a barless prison she had retired in and didn't see an exit to her self-imposed imprisonment.

Being caught in such contrasting thoughts so early in the morning sucked.

It sucked even more when behind her, Castle shifted a bit and his left hand, which had been resting on the bed, wounded around her shoulders and his thumb traced light circle on the bare skin. Her breath hitched in her lungs at the fairly innocent touch that set her body aflame.

She must have groaned, whined or emitted another type of sound, because Castle jolted awake and by reflex tightened his hold on her. "What's wrong?" he whispered, already alert despite having just woken up.

The moment she heard his voice, Beckett threw away the little self control she still had and spun around in his embrace and kissed him. Like the other night, only this time he was aware and not hallucinating. She did it because she wanted to, needed to even, and not because he was struggling so much he could hurt himself in a delirious nightmare.

His reaction was immediate and he pulled her so she was straddling him as he lay down on his back.

"Nothing's wrong…" she murmured against his lips.

His fingers wound through her long hair and pulled it back from her face. "You're lying." His free hand moved down her back and slipped beneath the thin shirt. She jolted when his rough palm touched her already over-sensitive skin. "You're tense," he added.

"It happens if you haven't had sex for almost a year," she replied with a smile.

"Don't I know it?"

She wiped a floppy strand of hair from his forehead and gently kissed it. His skin was pleasantly warm and a bit clammy from sleep and she took a moment to look at him, yellow eyes glinting in the early morning light and gray stubble shadowing his cheeks as his lips quirked in the most unnerving smile, in a positive way, she had ever seen.

"Well, there could be worse people to interrupt a dry spell with, don't you think?" she joked.

Castle pulled her down to him and kissed her once again. There was something fierce in the way he kissed her, as if he was clinging to it like a lifeline. Also, the way he held onto her, like a castaway gripping the only piece of floating wood in the tempest. There was a sense of desperation that seeped through his now very evident arousal that she couldn't understand.

If she was tensed, and he had been right about that, what was going on with him?

Well, she was a little bit too eager to let go to wonder about something that could be asked later.

Way later.

Biting her lip in a mischievous grin, she sat up and took off her shirt. She couldn't help but smile when Castle gasped seeing her naked to the waist.

She shivered when his fingers gripped her hips, his thumbs caressing the protruding bones tenderly, the sensitive skin already afire.

"I'm not religious but… By the graceful Melitele's you're beautiful." He gasped again when she traced a long healed scar on his chest with the tip of a finger. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"You caught my mother's killer."

He shook his head and sat up. "Found him, not caught him." His lips brushed her pulse point and she nearly lost it. "Give me a couple of days for that."

She pushed him back on the bed and smiled. "Let's focus on the matter at hand now. Bracken is probably still working on hiding the mess in his cellar, we have time."

With a grunt, Castle pulled her to him and flipped them on the bed so he was on top of her. "Don't mention that psychopath when you're sitting on my cock wearing your birthday suit."

"What about your birthday suit though?"

That was the moment she learned to never taunt a Witcher. Not in battle, not in bed. With a fitful movement he pushed his loincloth down and pushed into her. It was her turn to gasp and writhe, a mix of stinging pain and drawn pleasure tearing a loud moan from her throat.

Kate never expected tenderness from him, not in that moment at least, but Richard Castle was more resourceful than she had ever thought. His self control outlasted her own, and he stopped dead to allow her to get used to the sensation she had almost forgotten. His catlike eyes bore into hers, like a hot poker that twisted in her guts and suddenly unknotted all the tension she had accumulated in the past few days. Better, years.

As soon as the knot came loose, it felt like a strong wind of fresh air burst into the room. Beckett let out a sob as Castle moved, shifting ever so slightly inside of her and eliciting a myriad of different, sometimes contrasting sensations she couldn't keep up with.

He hid his face in her hair. "Calm down…" he whispered against her ear. "We can stop if you don't feel…"

Both her hands shot to his naked ass and pulled him closer to her. He hissed. "Don't you dare…" she snapped with a killer glare. Thankfully he took the hint.

It was rushed, rough, hasty and intense. An overload of sensations that left them both shocked, as if electrocuted by lightning during a storm. A million and more different feelings she had forgotten or repressed coursed through her pleasure-numbed mind and searing body, she was at his mercy just as he was at hers. All the fear, the pain and anger hoarded up in their lives had come up like magma from a volcano ready to explode and the last couple of days things had started to simmer even worse. But finally, they were able to let go of everything.

For once in the past ten years, her mother's murder wasn't the sole force guiding her life. Nor was the pursuit of magical knowledge, she had finally carved a breach through the invisible bars that she had built around her own heart. For once she was following her heart and Gods it felt so good!

Too bad it was over all too soon.

So frantic their lovemaking was, so needy and hasty that maybe a minute later they lay in each other's arms, both spent and satisfied. A wide grin lit up his face, and she couldn't help but notice how younger he looked when he smiled, despite the white hair and the few lines around his eyes and mouth. And the speckles of blue in his eyes that he had retained after the mutations shined as if they emitted light on their own. From ruggedly handsome, all of a sudden Richard Castle looked like the most beautiful man in the world from her point of view.

He certainly was the most skilled lover she ever had, probably the only one she'd ever want in her bed from that moment on.

"You alright?" he whispered against her lips.

Beckett stretched and leaned closer to him. "Perfect," she murmured. "Just perfect."

He chuckled, running his fingers through her hair and damn it felt great. "You're certainly more relaxed. I tell you, you were as taut as a fiddle string. I was afraid to hurt you."

She smiled. "I'm tougher than you may think. What about your back though?"

Castle grunted. "Everything is fine. I heal fast, you know…"

Kate lay her head on his chest and snuggled as close to him as she could. For a moment she closed her eyes and simply enjoyed the heat radiating from his body. "Yeah, I know." She remained silent for a while, before she spoke again. "Thank you."

He looked down. "For what?"

"For having dropped into my life like this."

"Naked and trying to slit your throat? What a nice way to dropping in someone's life."

Looking up to him, she gave him a chaste kiss on the lips and smiled again. "You didn't slit my throat and I wasn't exactly complaining about you being naked. I kind of like your birthday suit."

"When you want a second round, you just need to ask."

"Gods, give me a moment! I haven't had sex in so long it almost felt like being a virgin again."

"Pardon the vulgarity but you may have felt like a virgin but you screamed like a whore…"

Knowing perfectly well he was just picking on her, she laughed and gently slapped his chest in mocked injury. "So you've been whoring around from time to time then!"

"Never ever paid for sex. Accepted sex as payment for a job, yes. That I have done. Guilty as charged, the immunity from diseases is kind of useful, in my line of work."

"Not so different from whoring in my book, only money isn't mentioned."

Their amenable conversation was interrupted by a powerful pounding on the front door, downstairs. Only one person could have come at that time, so early in the morning.

"Speaking of whores…" he murmured as she sat up. "Guess round two can wait."

"You're so very right…" Kate picked up her discarded shirt and wore it as soon as she could. "We have to make up a plan." She threw him his own clothes. "Quick now, Carmen's probably tired and cold, I don't want to keep her out for too long. Springtime is cold up here in the north."

* * *

 _Sorry for the delay, I had a little bit of writer's block. Make it like a huge writer block. Also I hate this chapter. As much as I adore the song that inspired it, I hate this chapter. Really. I hope you like it more than me, because I got stuck here for three months and believe me, it doesn't feel good._


	18. Bracken Must Die

**Chapter 18 - Bracken Must Die**

When Beckett opened the door, she found Carmen, as expected, but also Lanie. Both women were occupied in a deep conversation about the state of affairs of Carmen's establishment and nearly didn't notice when Kate opened the door, but when they did, they both laughed.

"What was that for?" asked Kate as she let them in.

"Nothing…" giggled Lanie. "You just have a look…"

"What look?"

"That look!" added Carmen, waving at Castle that was promptly descending the stairs, disheveled hair and unbuttoned shirt that practically screamed _I just got laid_.

"Oh…" she whispered, a sudden feeling of awkwardness creeping up her chest and making her blush. "That look."

Lanie shook her head, gently patting her shoulder. "Oh don't be so embarrassed! There's nothing wrong about having sex, right Carmen?"

The madame laughed. "I made it my profession, as you can see. But, tell me Kate. What did you want to talk about?"

Quickly gathering her bearings, the sorceress guided everyone in the living room, while Castle silently moved towards the kitchen to prepare something for the guests. "Just a minute Carmen. Lanie, why are you here?"

"Girl, you've been absent from work for a week! People are worried and the Captain is pissed off. Care to tell me what's going on?"

With a sigh, Kate sat and threw a glance at Castle through the door. He was bustling around with pots and kettles, moving with every bit of grace she had seen him display in combat. A man of many contradictions.

"Lanie…" she started, realizing too late that she didn't even know where to start. "It's complicated, but if you have a moment, I'll explain everything, to both of you."

She then proceeded to tell them the whole story, from the very beginning. While Lanie had been aware of Kate's reasons to become a city guard despite her magic abilities, Carmen did know only some sketchy details she had let slip over the years, and most of all she wasn't really aware she was the one issuing the contract Castle was working on.

Both the medical examiner and the prostitute listened carefully to her words and reacted just as she had predicted; they didn't know what to say when the revelation that William Bracken was behind the mile-long trail of blood that had soiled Vizima for twenty years. The well known Keadweni was a staple of the Temerian capital high society, above all possible suspicion, and that was exactly what had protected him, along with money and influence.

"That bastard son of a whore…" exclaimed Lanie after Kate had described Bracken's dungeon. At Carmen's evil side eye, she quickly corrected herself. "No offence meant."

"None taken," she replied. "But let me get this straight now. You two want me and my girls to spread rumors of Bracken's involvement to instil the seed of rebellion among the population?"

"That's the idea," said Castle. He had remained silent for the whole exposition, except when asked questions about his wounds and health in general. "If we manage to at least cause a stir among the citizens, if they start to make enough noise to attract the attention of the court, things may turn in our favor and we might even manage to get a hearing with the King, to bring forth our case."

"He's powerful though, he has friends in high places, King Foltest among them. I doubt things will be so easy."

"We don't want it to be easy," interjected Kate. "We just want a chance to make people see Bracken for who he is. We'll try to bring as much evidence as we can. It's going to take a while before the rumor has spread and people start talking loud enough to make the plan work so we can gather more, but if we're lucky, the rumor will turn the population into a lynching mob and they will do the work for us."

"And if they don't?" asked Lanie. "What if they make just enough noise to get you all in front of Foltest and you can't prove your case?"

"In that case the steel of my sword demands his blood, to repay the blood I shed. Kate and I already killed his thralls, now we need to cut off the head of the monster, once and for all."

Everyone turned to look at Castle. His eyes were filled with hatred, they glowed even more than the usual. The tendons in his neck were taut and rigid, his fists clenched and his words were spoken through teeth clenched so tightly Kate thought he would break his fingers if he kept that up.

"Castle, there's no need…"

"There is, Kate," he snapped. "That… monster won't stop unless someone kills him. William Bracken is a peril, for everyone in this city. Or anywhere else for the matter. If let loose, he's going to kill, again and again, until… until he will be so gorged up in blood he will probably turn into a monster for real, the moment he dies. And as a Witcher I can't let him live."

"You could be imprisoned, you know that? Sentenced to death, too," said Carmen.

He shrugged his shoulders, chuckling. "Who cares. My daughter's a good lawyer, she'll force them to release me, finding a quibble or two."

A certain gloomy atmosphere fell over the room then, as the discussion progressed into an argument for which no one saw a reasonable solution. Everything in the plan they had devised hanged from a thin thread that could snap any moment, allowing the castle in the air they had built with their ifs and buts to collapse right on their heads.

Problem was, if that castle collapsed, their lives would probably collapse as well. It was the kind of situation in which you either go big or end up dead.

When, hours later, Carmen left with the promise to help them spread the rumors and Lanie with an autopsy to perform, Castle and Beckett were left alone.

And Beckett was pissed.

The moment the door closed behind her, she stormed in the living room. "What the hell was that, Castle?"

The Witcher, still sitting on an armchair, looked up at her with an angelic face that made her boil inside. "What was what?"

"That thing about killing Bracken!" she snapped, almost not recognizing her own voice, so filled with an angry biting tone it was. "There's no need for that! He's a murderer, if we can prove it he'll finish the days of his despicable life in a dungeon!"

Castle stood, slowly. Even in his unkempt state, unshaven and in partial state of undress, his towering figure as he raised to his full height made her feel small, like a little girl. And she wasn't by any means a short woman, often surpassing in height many men.

"Yes, it is. You may see it through the eyes of justice, but I see the whole situation in a radically different way. William Bracken is a monster, a creature filled to the brim with evil, something I was taught and bred to kill. You put murderers in dungeons to rot with the filth and the mold, but that… _man…_ " the spite in his voice as he spoke that word made her shake down to the bones. "He's no normal man. He's evil, deep down to the spoiled marrow of his. He's a vile creature that has no place on this continent, not as long as I live. You see… I've dealt with men like him for sixty years, and I know how it ends."

He paused, briskly running his hands over his face and through his hair, as if to comb it. He looked sincerely upset about it.

"How does it end?" she dared to ask, her own voice a mere whisper that still echoed in the silent room.

"It ends with dead people. Tons of dead people. It ends with pogroms, it ends with good men and women turning against their neighbors because of ill-advised words coming from rumormongers. It ends with blood on the streets, with families torn apart and friends left to grieve. It ended with my own brother butchered, like an animal, a pitchfork drove deep into his stomach by a kid not older than fourteen. That's how it ends."

Oh. So that was it. He feared that a possible escalation in Bracken's modus operandi would turn the population of Vizima against the non humans, in a desperate measure to end the slow bloodshed that had stained their city for so many years. He didn't want to see a recreation of the Pogroms in Rivia that had claimed the life of his own brother. And since she came to think about it, it was quite bound to happen, if the murders increased in frequency.

And then, with the presence of the Church Of Eternal Fire so radicated in town, an abysmal amount of non human blood was going to be shed.

At the thought, Beckett gagged, dry-heaving a couple of times before she managed to put the wave of nausea to rest. Like a cruel backstab, she could almost feel his pain radiating from his very vivid memories he had relieved not too long ago, like the first time, fuelled into a nightmarish vision brought on by the fever of an infection that had threatened to kill him.

And he was livid. Angry didn't even start to describe his current state.

She knew the feeling. They were so close, but if they wanted to make things as dictated by the law, they couldn't rely on much. And yet he was ready to commit what by the light of the law was cold blooded murder, which would surely land a death sentence on his head, in order to stop that man. In the only way he knew; killing him.

To Castle's point of view, that man didn't deserve to breathe his same air, just like any other monster prowling in the dark, hungry for human blood.

Bracken was just that, in the end. A despicable man, a soulless being unable to feel pity, remorse or mercy, that couldn't see beyond the thick curtain of lies his blind faith in the Eternal Fire had drawn over his eyes. And that inability to feel any kind of positive sentiment allowed him to carry out the most gruesome crime without ever feeling a hint of regret.

Castle had seen that kind of man live long enough to become part of local folklore for too long. This time, he had the chance to actually stop it before it blew out of proportion, and he was ready to do it. To commit murder in order to stop it before Bracken became to bloodlusty to draw something even more dreadful upon the city.

"As long as I can carry my sword high and strike with it, I'll never stop fighting. That man will either never see the light of day again, or all he'll see is the cold inside of his coffin when I'm done with him," he declared.

He rushed upstairs and she heard the clatter of steel before he landed once again in front of her, sword in his hand. "When I'm done with him, he'll wish he'd never seen my eyes glowing into his as I impale him with this very blade. For Witcher is my name, I am the Lord And Master Of The Sword, and hereby I swear an oath of revenge for all those people murdered."

Not caring for the state of the wooden floor, he planted the sword upright into the old, darkened planks with so much force Beckett was pretty sure he had created a crack in the ceiling of the cellar. "Bracken either dies in prison or by my sword. End of the story."

Kate searched for words to rebut that declaration of war, but couldn't find any. The whole time they had talked with Lanie and Carmen about actually putting their plan in motion he had been silent, and only now she understood that silence for what it was; the silence of a man brought to the brink of madness by frustration and terrible memories that had resurfaced in the most brutal ways.

While the three women had spoke of legit ways to bring the fortress of power and fear, he had been brooding over the fact that now that they had pissed him off for good, Bracken could quickly escalate from serial killing to mass murdering.

And he had seen first with his own eyes what the words and actions of a single man could spur in the mass.

It still haunted him, and will always do.

* * *

 _Fuck ABC. Sincerily. Fuck ABC. From the bottom of my heart. I finished the story in three days, typing out of anger. As soon as I have all the chapters corrected, I'll post them and I swear there's a happy ending. Goddammit how stupid people can be? For fuck's sake!_


	19. That Curse Became My Endless Force

_Little A.N. I had the nicest guy (given the username I assumed you were a guy, correct me if I'm wrong) ask me if I'd ever return to write Shadows. HELL YEAH I AM! Just, let me finish this (which is already complete, I'm just waiting for Alex to proof read the last three chapters and I'm not going to press her in any way for reasons) so yes, I'm going back to Shadows as soon as I can. I just need to rewatch a couple of episodes to get things right and it's all Shadows and some High King._

 _Last but not less important, if you go on YouTube and type "sword of the witcher" you'll find a song by Polish death metal band Vader. In case you might want to delve a little bit in distorted guitars and harsh vocals, give it a try. It was released as promotion material for the first game (which this story ties in to) and... well, I just love it so, go listen if you want to try something different._

* * *

 **Chapter 19 - That Curse Became My Endless Force**

They didn't expect that kind of reception to their plan.

Thanks to the quick spreading of the well-crafted lie by the best channel they had access too - and that prostitutes were great at planting collective ideas into the hive mind of the city population - their falsehood took the city by storm.

In a couple of days, everyone spoke about it, about how William Bracken had been hiding his murders behind the attacks of a monster, and that someone had uncovered the truth.

A very sudden, very powerful feeling of patriotism rose among every social strata. From the poor beggar to the banker, ill wishes started being thrown around in conversations when they spoke of the new gossip, as the foreigner that had come in town to force his ways on them turned out had overstayed his invitation and had started murdering people not following his example.

Lanie, Esposito and Ryan all reported the urging unrest that creeped around. The rumors had reached even Foltest's court, and it seemed like the king was inclined to listen to such rumors.

But the Church had quickly come to the aid of their most valiant knight and was already creating a protective wall around him. No words from Bracken yet, after the banquet he had retired in his mansion, forfeiting even the daily functions of the Church. Which, for him, was highly weird.

Both the Witcher and the Sorceress used that time to research more possible evidence, ways to decrypt the spell that hid all the notes in Bracken's books, but to no avail.

Things were moving too quickly, as by the end of the week, it was clear that a large chunk of the population of Vizima wanted Bracken dead, with or without sure proof of his involvement, and the unrest was gathering even more attention because fights started to break in the streets.

The lynching mob Beckett had predicted was ready to form. Pitchforks and torches were just waiting for the call to arms.

Which came about a week after the rumors started to spread.

Guards could barely contain violence against the Church's representative, acts of random vandalism on their headquarters became an hourly occurrence, be it the launch of rotten food against the facades of their buildings or harassment and straight up aggression towards the clergy and the known believers. Things were quickly getting out of hand and despite the reluctance of a large part of the nobility and the King himself, in the end he was forced to summon Bracken to court and get his side of the story.

This compelled Castle and Beckett to go too, of course.

The hearing took place in the main hall of the Royal Palace of Vizima. The amount of security was staggering, guards in every corner and nook, armored soldiers on the balconies, beside the King's throne, escorting Bracken and the Church's priests coming to defend him.

Defend him from what? A lie?

Beckett had all the intention to speak up. If she had hoped for the lynching mob ending, she was prepared to face her own deception and bring forth her accusations.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" asked Castle as they sneaked through the crowd to reach the throne room.

"Absolutely. He killed my mother Castle, I must be the one accusing him."

"All you have is your testimony. You're a lowly guard, no one is going to believe you."

She ran a hand through her hair, tugging slightly until she felt her scalp sting. "I can still incite the crowd. People have finally found a culprit, even if I'm pretty sure they are going to use him as a scapegoat because he forced his religion upon them, more than the murders themselves. I must at least try to make leverage on that."

She could read it on his face that he was extremely skeptical about the outcome of the whole thing, as she was after all, and he had come prepared for it. He was armed to the teeth, had taken all his potions and was ready to defend her, or anyone else in the room, in case Bracken lost his wits and started practicing unchecked magic in a very crowded area.

No victims except for him, that was what he had said, as they walked uphill to the palace. No one else had to die that day, except that piece of shit. Those had been his exact words.

He had brought the books too, just in case. Keira would be there, after all, as the royal counselor for magic. She was way more adept at arcane magic, the kind used on the books, than Kate, and she believed the older sorceress could help their cause.

In fact, they easily spotted her, with her blonde mane of flowing hair and the bright, colorful clothes, sitting beside Foltest. They had an ally, Kate knew perfectly well about Keira's stance on the Church, she despised it just as any other mage. And before becoming one of the court magicians, Keira had been one of her teachers at the academy. At least someone would be on their side.

The sudden shrill of a trumpet echoed in the large hall, silencing the noisy crowd. A chamberlain, strutting proud as a peacock on a small podium, called for their attention.

"We are here reunited to discuss a despicable rumor that has been circulating all around town the past week, causing unrest and bursts of violence among the population. Someone has accused our respected Envoy from Kaedwen William Bracken to be the mind behind the numerous monster attacks that in the past twenty years have claimed the lives of an unknown number of victims. The anonymous accuser claims that the here present Ambassador Bracken has been murdering people who opposed his views of the Church Of Eternal Fire and kept a monster in his basement which would feed on the corpse to mask any sign of wrongdoing on his part. How does the indicted respond to this accusation?"

"Not guilty," he declared, calm as a boulder of stone, left in a sunny meadow with a light breeze blowing across its crooks and nooks.

"Said anonymous accuser also cites the unregulated, uneducated use of magic on your part. How do you stand on this accusation?"

"I abhor magic, Your Highness," he spoke directly to Foltest, who lay sprawled on his throne, half listening to the solemn speeches being proclaimed in front of him. He already seemed to have formed an idea on the situation, which didn't bode well for them. "I do not know anything about magic. My Faith prohibits the use of magic."

"I'm well aware of that, Ambassador. You basically shoved that shit down my throat each time you met me at court!" replied Foltest, visibly annoyed. "But tell me… it occurs to me that the murders started soon after you were appointed here. And no one died of any monster attack when you left for Kaedwen. What should I think of this?"

Beckett dared to look up at Castle. He was as speechless as her. They both considered Foltest to be what could be summarily described described an inbred idiot, but he had quickly made the connection. Also, he seemed to deeply dislike Bracken. Good for them.

"Coincidences, Your Highness."

"Mmh…" the King muttered something to himself, which they couldn't hear, but the crowd snickered at the overly simplistic defence. "Is the accuser present? I'd like to hear his statement too."

At that, Beckett stepped forward. "I'm here, Your Highness!"

Everyone turned in her direction as she walked up the central aisle. "Here I am, I am the anonymous accuser."

Foltest scrutinized her from head to toe, unimpressed. "And who would you be?"

"Katherine Houghton Beckett, Your Highness, city guard officer, healer my spare time, formally educated at the Schools for Magicians in Vengerberg under the tuition of Yennefer Of Vengerberg, Triss Merigold and the here present Keira Metz."

The older sorceress politely bent her neck, acknowledging her presence as Foltest turned towards her looking for a sign from his advisor. "Interesting. Now, please tell me Officer Beckett, what led you to the conclusion that Ambassador Bracken is the culprit of all those death and should be accounted for all the blood that has been spilled?"

"Research, Your Highness. I've spent the last ten years searching for my mother's murderer. Johanna Beckett died ten years ago, she was found in the sewers, her corpse half eaten by the exposure in water and the bites of a monster. Recently, I've investigated other attacks perpetrated in the same way and came to the conclusion that every victim had fallen in the hands of a person that had deliberately killed each of them, only to hide his nefarious acts behind a monster."

"And your research brought you to Ambassador Bracken?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"With all the due respect, this woman forced her way into my own house under the pretence of being the wife of a fellow believer in the Eternal Fire, who turned out to be a Witcher in disguise. These… foul creatures used magic to mask their appearances and get themselves invited into my house, then proceeded to conduct an illegal search of my property."

"During which we found a lesser vampire chained in your dungeon, blood splatters everywhere two of your most notable henchmen that attacked us without a provocation!"

She deliberately raised her voice to cause some kind of reaction in Bracken, and it seemed to work. A flicker of magic crept around him, she could barely feel it but a quick glance at both Keira and Castle confirmed her sensation. He was getting worked up and he let his control over his uneducated magical abilities to slip.

"So you admit you committed trespassing?" asked the King.

"Yes, guilty as charged Your Highness. I committed trespassing. But what I found in that dungeon confirmed my suspicions. Ambassador Bracken has been murdering people for showing their opposition to the Church Of The Eternal Fire. For twenty years."

"You cannot prove it!" screamed Bracken at the top of his lungs. For the briefest of seconds, Kate could see the phantom shape of a flame appear in his palm, before he clenched his hand and smothered it.

"Can you prove you're innocent?" she replied, reveling in the fact that he was about to crumble and show to the world what hypocrite he was. How more akin to monster than human he was.

The crowd around them started shouting at that point, a faction composed in great part of the poor people of the city chanting their support for her while the major part of the nobility, now faithful followers of the Eternal Fires, cried their support for their favourite ambassador, the pious believer who would not falter in front of the adversity.

Someone even started a brawl, promptly stopped by the zealous guards and soldiers mixed with the crowd. Things were getting heated, but the majority of the people present there were followers of the Eternal Fire and that didn't tipped the tables in their favors. The stakes were high, and she was basing her whole argument on castles in the air. Almost literally.

"It seems like we have reached a standoff," declared Foltest the moment the crowd fell silent again. He sat up straight on the throne, to show a little bit of authority over an unruly audience. "I have come to the conclusion that this matter needs investigation. A team of detectives, aided by my advisor Keira Metz will perform a thorough search of all of Ambassador Bracken's property, starting from the town house."

"You cannot do that!" he cried, feeling cornered.

"Yes I can," bellowed the king. "And I will." Clearly Foltest was trying to get rid of someone he detested.

"I have diplomatic immunity!" shouted Bracken then.

"Which can be surpassed by royal authority if enough evidence is brought to court or to the investigative office responsible for violent crimes!"

That was Castle. He had emerged from the crowd, one of Bracken's ledgers held high in the air, the hand grasping it was covered in dark, fresh blood. The page it was open at though was filled with dark scribbles and not empty as the last time Beckett had seen it. She had to take a very close look at it before realizing that it wasn't only a figment of her own imagination but something very real.

"And who would you be?" asked the chamberlain this time.

"Richard Castle, Witcher of the School Of The Wolf. I assisted the here present accuser Kate Beckett in the latest stages of her investigation. We found these ledgers in William Bracken's dungeons, filled with all the details of his murders. Names, dates, motives, everything."

"Why haven't you shown it earlier then?" continued Foltest.

"They were protected by a spell we couldn't find a way to crack. Conveniently enough, I managed to crack it now," he explained walking up to the throne and, after a brisk bow, handed the bloodied ledger to the king. "Apparently, it required a copious amount of blood shed next to it to be readable."

"How did you find out?" asked Beckett when the Witcher reached her side.

He shrugged, looking down at his hand. The gash was already closing, leaving only an angry red line on his palm that surely itched like a bad case of poison oak. "After the scuffle the crowd behind me rearranged itself. Then I felt something getting hot in my bag, I pulled the ledgers out and they were all readable, only to become blank again as a certain woman moved away from me, complaining cramps and nausea."

Beckett realized immediately what he meant. "You mean you realized the spell that protected them was bound to blood because someone in the crowd was on her period?"

He nodded. "Exactly." He didn't explain further.

"You're either a genius or a pervert."

"Neither, I have a daughter, that's all."

As Foltest ran through the pages, his face went from mildly annoyed to absolutely disgusted. He then threw the ledger at Keira. "Is it real?"

"Of course it is not!" said Bracken, downplaying the most incriminating evidence brought against him. "It is forged, it must be!"

"No, it's not," stated Metz, speaking for the first time since the beginning of the hearing. "There's rough magic poured on this ledger, but it hasn't been tampered recently. Also, I know what kind of pattern Kate's spells leave on things, this is not hers. It's rough, hastened and crude. Angry too. It perfectly fit you, Ambassador, in this moment. I perceive the same pattern of magic around you."

That magic then exploded in a loud bang with smoke and fire. A large column of magical flames ignited from the very spot Bracken was standing and shot up to the ceiling, paralyzing everyone with fear, except for the ill-assorted couple accusing him. Castle had seen it coming and had promptly raised a shield around them, to protect both from any outburst of magical energy that would soon go off from the untrained Source.

The audience screamed and cried, panicking as they hurried to the only exit on the far end of the room, while Keira came to the aid and protection of the King.

Among the clutter, Castle stood up right, unfazed by the noise of stomping feet and scared cries. Slowly, he reached behind his back and grasped his sword. "William Bracken, you have the chance to end it now and peacefully turn yourself in to the guards."

"Never!" he replied, his voice twisted into a monstrous growl as he tried to keep his magic in check and the flames subsided enough to show his unscathed figure among them. "You will die, like them! You all deserve to die! The Eternal Fire will purge the world of your filthy stains!"

He moved his arm towards them and the fire enveloping him shot towards them, stopped by the protective shield. He tried again, but Castle only repeated the magical ward and kept them safe from harm.

"Bracken, it's over! You blew it!"

 _Quite literally._ Thought Kate, already working on her own magic to counteract on his.

"It was perfect before you arrived in!" cried the Kaedweni. Rage burned in his eyes and magic created a whirlwind around him that was getting stronger and stronger each moment. "If you had just stayed away from Vizima, my plan to purify this heathen land could have go on forever!"

"Blood never purifies anything, Bracken!" shouted Kate. "Blood only calls for more blood. A monster only calls for more of its kin. That's what you did! With your murders, your senseless bloodshed, you doomed our city!"

"No! I purified it!" he spat out. "I was cleansing it! I was ridding it of all the trash, all the hideous heathens that refused to embrace the Light! They were those who brought the monsters!"

"It was you! You killed them, you left them in the sewers, feeding the monsters you despise!"

Bracken got so angry and out of control that a rift started to form in the pattern of space and time. Castle realized just in time and he rushed towards him, weapon raised in order to stop him before said rift caused a second Conjunction. In case an event like the Conjunction of different worlds through a rift between the thin veils of magic and time would have brought the birth of new species of monsters and forms of magic they didn't know and couldn't control. And they couldn't allow it.

Beckett did the same, only she used magic to close that rift.

It took her more energy than she thought to harness the power of Bracken's unconscious attempt to wipe them from all existence on an atomic level before she could actually say she was controlling it, while Castle tried to penetrate the shield their enemy had raised.

Beckett fought hard with controlling the magic around her and it sapped her reserves quite quickly. Bracken was a valid opponent, if only too rough and angry to be considered more than an amateur, but he fought with insistence and tenacity to defend his precarious stronghold made of flames and defensive shields. She felt the heat of his flames on her skin, the air around her smelled of burned upholstery and charred wood, and despite the deafening roars of the magical fire around her, she could hear the distinct sounds of the fleeing crowd behind.

If she failed, if she slipped, if he managed to overcome her efforts to keep the world as it was, hundreds of innocent people would be wiped out from the face of the continent. Gods knew if the continent would still be there, if another rift would open.

The first, named The Conjunction Of The Spheres, brought monsters and magic to their world, from a place far far away in space and time. A second one, artificially created by a reckless magician, had the brute force to erase their world altogether in an instant, sucking it into a void of nothingness.

 _Not on my watch…_ she thought as she doubled her efforts to stop it from happening.

Thankfully, Castle had thrown a dimeritium bomb at the right time. Both the loud bang of the explosive powder and the shards of metal known to dampen magical abilities blasted over Bracken's unchecked magical field and disrupted it long enough to allow her to push through with her own assault and close the paradoxical slit that he was unknowingly opening, thus saving them a lot of trouble later.

But also, it allowed her to stop doing damage control and to conjure a large quantity of water that sapped the fires. The throne room was safe and no one would die smothered by the smoke then.

Still shocked by her bold and quick move, Bracken had absolutely no time to reach when Castle assaulted him with his sword. He swung it like it weighed less than a feather, delivering precise cuts and strikes, one behind his calves, severing the tendons, one each bicep to render him unable to use his hands and a fourth one meant for his head, but that stopped only a hair from beheading him. It was a swift, graceful pirouette that brought the blade up to Bracken's neck and only Castle's amazing self-control and ability that stopped the already bloodied steel from washing once again in the red liquid.

Bracken slowly fell to his knees, rendered powerless. Exhausted by the sudden burst of magic he wasn't used to sustaining for so long and wounded by the Witcher's weapon, he was now at their mercy.

Slowly, still not believing what she saw, Beckett walked up to him and knelt so to look him in his glassy eyes. Gone was the fury, the anger and the self-righteousness of a man that had made the cleansing of the world the achievement of his life, replaced by the dull emptiness of defeat.

"You could have done so much good in this city…" she spoke, softly. "You could have used your money to promote actions against poverty, create jobs for those in need, take people away from the streets. You could have learned the ways of magic, harness your innate power, and healed more people in an hour that I have ever healed in all my life. You had the chance, and blew it, for what? An idol made of ashes and hot air? You had the force to change things, for the better."

He looked up, a snarl twisting his face into a ghoulish expression that disgusted her. "Magic is a curse I was doomed to bear against my will."

"So I was, but that curse became my greatest force."

Things got a bit blurry after that moment, but Bracken was cuffed and carried away while Foltest yelled this and that to his attendees.

Time seemed to slow down though for her and Castle. Still wrapped in the remnants of the protective shield he had cast on them, and it felt like an unseen force that brought them together. Before she knew it, she was wrapped in the warmth of his arms, the solid slab of his chest providing the support she needed as she suddenly felt deflated and utterly powerless to the cascade of emotions that washed over her like an ocean wave during a storm. It didn't matter that he was covered in soot, traces of black powder and blood.

"We did it…" she mumbled against the coarse chainmail he was wearing. He smelled of dirt, sweat and cleaning oil, but she didn't care. To her, it was the stench of victory. Also, she probably smelled just as bad. The fight had been short, but extremely intense.

"You did it…" he murmured against her hair. "You did it all. You guided me. Alone, I would have never accomplished anything."

"You underestimate yourself."

He shook his head and smiled down at her. "No, you do. Look at you, you just stopped a second Conjunction and your hair's still perfect!"

Kate couldn't repress the laugh that burst from deep down and shook her like an earthquake. Castle was that kind of man that after a battle could shoot a joke like that, with the smoldering remains of the fight still smoking around them. And she liked him for that. And for many other things. Maybe she felt something a bit deeper than the mere liking.

She even dared to stand on the tip of her toes and steal a kiss from him.

"Hey, you two!" shouted Foltest then. "Get a room!"

The idea sounded extremely appealing.

"Want to go home?" he asked.

No need to ask her twice.


	20. The Beast Howls In My Veins

_Fun fact: the backbone of this chapter has been sitting on my Google Drive account since the night Always aired, four years ago. I was sifting through all the crap that I started writing but never completed and found this little thing and thought it could fit quite well. Also, I realized I wrote a paragraph basically thinking of Shadows. I think I messed up a little bit. I'm writing too much stuff these days._

* * *

 **Chapter 20 - The Beast Howls In My Veins**

People react in many different ways to stressful situations. If a large group of men and women survives a traumatic event, such as sudden, heavy storm, or a fire in the building they're in, or even worse, a battle, you'll see the different ways people deal with the stress.

A large part suffers for an instant and crippling weariness. You see them completely worn out, heading for the nearest safe place in silence, often wobbling like willow branches in the wind. They could sleep for days after such an event.

Then there's a smaller, but still substantial group of people that get hyped on stress. The rush of adrenaline makes them hyperactive for hours, and they're usually among those who help the other survivors getting away from the site, if there's still danger.

There's the analyser, that critiques everything that happened from any point of view, searching for the reason of something like that happening. Most of them become good historians or reporters, down the line. There's also the angry man that spews crap on everything just because he was marginally touched, like a scrape or a burn or a flooded cellar, and the religious one, that prays for things to return to normal soon… and many others, too many to list them all.

But there's a tiny, almost insignificant percentage of people that react to stress by seeking sex, right after said stressful event, as their way to cope with it.

That's exactly what happened to them.

On the way down to her house, walking hand in hand and often leaning on each other for support, both of them realized that it was either that or a destructive fit of rage. Each for their own reason, they were filled with anger and a jumble of contrasting feelings that they had to take out, one way or another. They walked close together, almost wrapped up in a bubble that didn't let in the noises around them. They couldn't hear the people screaming and running around them, the guards trying to keep things calm until they understood what had been going on, or the screams of the terrified people. They were in their bubble, shut out from the world.

But most of all, Beckett felt numb. She was walking, she knew she was walking home, but in fact, it was only because Castle was leading her. She could barely register the arm wrapped around her shoulder and the warm fingers of his other hand wrapped around her own as he drove her through the crowd.

When they finally reached the house and walked in, Beckett shut the door behind her and collapsed against it with a loud thud. The solid wooden surface held her upright as she found herself staring at Castle while he walked down to the living room. She watched his back as he fumbled with the buckles of his sword harness, strapped to his chest, until he finally managed to release them all and let the weapons fall with a clutter of steel and leather on the wooden planks of the floor. She was mesmerized by his movements, as he divested himself of the thin chainmail he had bought for the occasion just the other day. Beneath it, the once white shirt was soaked and clung to him like a second skin.

The same, raw and desperate need to have him was now resurfacing, suddenly bursting the bubble that had numbed all her perception, and the physical necessity to give up all control and just let herself be. In the pit of her stomach, she felt the heat radiating through her body like liquid fire running through her veins. Something primal possessed her, something arcane and purely instinctive, long forgotten with thousands of years of civilization imposed on human behavior. She could feel it, the bestial side of humanity, the basal needs howling like a wolf, scratching behind her skin trying to get out, to claw at his skin in the heat of the mating act.

She clenched her fist against the door, trying desperately to maintain what little control she had left after they had finally apprehended Bracken, to no avail. She needed him. Craved him from the deepest recess of her soul. It was the sort of magnetic attraction that compelled her to stay close to him.

And just when she was about to give in that compelling force, he pounced like an animal on the hunt. Without realizing it, she found herself propped up on the door behind her, her legs wrapped around his waist as he kissed her with bruising force. His lips were hard against hers, unrelenting in their demand of an entrance, while the stubble on his chin scratched her skin, but she didn't care. His heat enveloped her and she felt a jolt of electricity run through her limbs where he touched her.

His palms roughly pulled her shirt out of her pants and snuck beneath the thin cloth, hot and heavy on her skin. His touch was harsh, but that was she needed in that moment. What they both needed.

She grasped the lapels of his soggy shirt and tore it open. He bit her lip at that, hard. "There goes the third shirt…" he murmured, while he methodically unbuttoned each button of her own, in stark contrast of her rushed attempt to get him naked.

"Don't care…" She snuck her fingers down his chest to push away the now ruined piece of clothing, then down his abdomen to his belt. It took all her agility to unbuckle it while still holding herself up.

"Bed?" he asked between the trail of hot, wet kisses he was leaving down the column of her throat. Each of them sent a shower of shivers down her body, making her shake.

Kate shook her head and finally managed to push his pants and underwear down enough to feel his hard on against her stomach. "No time." She stepped down and got rid of her own pants in haste. "Need you know."

She was pinned to the door a split second later, with Castle ready to take her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and looked at him. Written in his eyes there was the request of permission to proceed and that persistent shadow of desperation that made her heart ache for him, even though she couldn't understand it. She gave him a minute nod. "Castle, please…" She would later chide herself for begging him, but in that moment… it was everything she could do. Beg him, hope he'd have mercy of her and would make her feel alive as she thought she'd feel once she'd found her mother's murderer. Because instead, she felt like everything had little sense now, like her purpose had been stolen from her. She felt like a lonely beast howling in the dark, like a mating call, searching for her partner.

And she cried out loud when he finally gave her what she begged for. Hard.

"Feels so good…" she whispered when he started moving inside her.

"You have no idea," he grunted against her neck. "I… I should have listened to Geralt years ago…"

"Ugh…" a particularly forceful thrust made her arch her back and neck so she banged her head against the door. "About what?"

"Sex with sorceresses…" he revealed. "He always told me… ah do that again!"

Grinning, she clenched her legs around his waist again and he grunted again. "What?"

"That sex with sorceress is the best sex!"

"Funny… Yennefer always said the same about Witchers…"

"Fuck, I guess they were right!"

And it was what they needed. Perfect. But like everything so perfect, it didn't last.

And as soon as the inner earthquake of her orgasm that left her quivering and breathless subsided, reality struck like the proverbial bolt of lightning.

She had caught her mother's murderer. After ten years, years she had devolved uniquely to solve that murder, it all came down to a deranged religious extremist that had turned into the monster he so despised. Her mother had died by the hand of a psychopath that tried to justify his actions behind religion.

She had died for no reason at all.

And in the span of an hour, she had got the killer in dimeritium chains to stop all his magical abilities. It was over. William Bracken would rot in a cell, or more probably would be sentenced to death. Too many people had died because of him.

And now, it was over. Ten years she had invested in the impossible task of finding _that_ monster among thousands of other creatures that infested Vizima and the nearby area. And in two weeks… everything found a pretty permanent resolution.

"It's over…" she murmured, eyes fixated on the ceiling. "It's really over…"

She felt his heavy breath on her neck when he turned. "You caught him…"

"Yeah... I caught…" she tried to complete the sentence but a sob caught in her throat and blocked the words. She felt her stomach twist and lurch around, tightening in a knot that stole the air from her lungs, then her throat constricted as she tried to suppress the tears. Her body shook with the effort of keeping everything bottled up.

"You can let go Kate," he whispered in her ear. "You can cry, no one's going to blame you."

Gritting her teeth though, she steadfastly tried to hold it all back, but failed. Tears streamed down her face and her body was wracked up by sobs and hiccups.

"Let it out, girl." Castle's voice came distant to her ears, despite the fact that he was holding her up in his arms now, and walked up the stairs to her bedroom. "Let it all out, you deserve this."

The next thing she knew was that she was in her bed, wrapped between the duvet and the man holding her tightly against his chest, whispering sweet, comforting words in her ear as he stroke her hair. She was clinging to him for dear life, as she cried on his shoulder.

"Everything will be alright," he said. "You're strong, you're an amazing sorceress. You can do so many great things now, you have your life back."

Sniffling, she nodded. He was right, she had her life back. She wasn't slave of her mother's death anymore. She was free to leave, to do new things, to go back to the life she lived before. She could reach out to Triss and start being a mage again, live the glamorous life of a court mage somewhere.

And yet…

"It's just…"

"I get it, you devoted so much time to solving this that now that you did, it doesn't feel real, right?"

She nodded again, but couldn't find words to answer him.

"It will though. Believe me, I've been through this, when Geralt died."

Beckett sniffled again and looked up at him. "What happened?"

Smiling, he wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I woke up after nearly two weeks of coma. You see, this wound," he explained tracing the jagged line that crossed his chest and abdomen sideways, from hip to shoulder. "This wound was deep enough that my entrails took a nice trip outside me. Triss needed all her power and abilities to sew me back together, that's why I was sure that I would survive, the other day. Anyway… they didn't tell me right away that he had been killed. Yennefer too, they didn't inform me of their deaths. Not to mention the disappearances of their body for all it matters. When they did… well, I didn't react so well. It didn't feel real, although I knew, deep down, that they wouldn't lie to me about that."

"What did you do?"

"I denied, for a while. Stopped eating for a couple of days. Than the truth sank in, and I accepted it. It took me some time, it hurt a lot, but in the end… I saw things for what they were. My own brother had died doing what he loved, protecting people from abusers. While your mother didn't exactly die in a comparable way… at least you got a closure. Me? I have no idea who killed my brother. Does it make your case better than mine? No, your mother is still dead. But at least you have something to hold on to. You have closure. Bracken will probably die at the gallow's pole, sooner or later. You saw it, Foltest wanted him gone from the very beginning. You will have your revenge."

"I don't care for revenge."

He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Than what do you want?"

She took a deep, cleansing breath. "I just want you…"

He leaned down and kissed her, but unlike before, this kiss was calm, languid and sweet. She felt invested by a wave of warmth that made her feel safe. He made her feel safe. Damn, she had met him two weeks ago and she was already prepared to live her whole life with him. And with their magically elongated life spans, that meant a lot of time.

"I'm here Kate, if you want me to stay, I'm not going anywhere."

"And give up being a Witcher?"

"I bet I can find enough contracts around town to keep myself in good shape. And I can still write books."

"Speaking of which…" she started, hiding her face into his neck. "I love your books. How you based Derrick on Geralt… and now I see even on yourself. I can't wait for the next one."

He chuckled. "I hope you can forgive me, because I killed him."

"Oh no you didn't!"

"Yes I did!" She slapped his chest. "In the next book. I turned it into the publisher two weeks ago. But I have already some ideas for a new character, new inspiration, you know…"

"Who might that be?"

"You."


	21. Epilogue - Dragon And Wolf

**Epilogue - Dragon And Wolf**

Bracken went through a rapid yet spectacular trial and was sentenced to death after a minimum prison time of one hundred and eighty days. After that, he'd be hanged, drawn and quartered during a public execution.

Multiple times the envoys of the Church tried to get him out of prison, citing lunacy and insanity, that he needed to be taken care and that a man of his stature deserved a better treatment than this, but Foltest had been adamant about it. He remained in prison. Also, Bracken's own king, Demevend of Kaedwen, refused to ask for mercy to his Temerian counterpart. He too found Bracken's crimes too heinous for compassion.

Meanwhile, Castle had cashed in the money for the contract, sum large enough to allow both he and Beckett to live like high society for a long while, then another good sum of gold was added by the king himself, for having apprehended the criminal without anyone else getting hurt. Foltest wasn't exactly his favourite of the Northern Kingdoms ruler, but this time he showed he actually might know what he was doing.

It took Kate a while to accept the fact that her ten year long nightmare had come to an end, and the final sink in came when they went to visit her father. Jim Beckett, an elderly gentleman, welcomed them in his house just outside Vizima.

"I guess you're here about what happened the other day in court," he said, walking towards the tidy living room while heavily leaning on a cane.

"Yes Dad," started Kate. "But before that, sit down. And this is Richard Castle, the man that helped me find mom's murderer."

Jim looked at her, blue eyes shining brightly. "You caught him?"

She nodded as she sat down in front of her. "Yes. Dad, it's a long story. Are you sure you want to hear it?"

He did. But as Kate wove the tale of how a single man had decided that his beloved wife deserved to die for her opinion of a religion, Jim went through all the stages of grief, all over again. Castle could read it on his face. When she was done, he ran a hand over his face and remained silent for a long while.

"All of this… for the madness of one man. And no one ever realized it."

"People didn't know where to look. I didn't know where to look, too. Castle here, he had the idea, and the training to see things I couldn't see. That's how he managed to find Bracken."

The older man looked at him for a long moment. "You're a Witcher then."

Castle nodded. "Yes sir."

"And my daughter asked your help because…"

"Because we have common acquaintances and she has been referred to me for my abilities as a tracker."

"Mmh… I guess that by common acquaintances you mean her tutors at the academy. Well, thanks for helping my daughter find my wife's murderer. I appreciate it. I suppose you came here to demand the money you're due."

Jim made to stand up but both Castle and Kate hurried to stop him. "Absolutely not sir," explained Castle, with a voice tone a tad too harsh, to the point that Jim startled. "I've undertaken the contract from the city of Vizima, not from your daughter. You don't owe me an oren. The matter has already been settled by King Foltest."

"Oh…" replied Jim. "Alright. But, let me at least offer you something to drink, to show you how grateful I am. Unfortunately I don't keep alcohol here anymore, but Kate has introduced me to this marvellous beverage from Zerrikania and…"

Smiling, Castle stopped him. "Your daughter introduced me to coffee too. And I'll gladly accept the offer."

* * *

They quickly got used to a routine together. Beckett, as word of mouth blew her cover as a city guard, went back to the old ways of being a sorceress and healer full time, establishing a legitimate medical practice that cured everything from a random cold to curses. Castle took care of all the contracts in the region, dealing with all the necrophages that infested the sewers of Vizima and the pack of ghouls in the graveyard, allowing the population to use it again for its original purpose and stop dropping corpses in the sewers.

When someone called for a Witcher, he answered, and monsters went away. And during down time, he wrote. The new book came out nicely, with new interesting characters and new stories and dynamics between the characters. Kate seemed to like it too, and for once Gina was happy to have him close by and monitor his progression with the new book.

And Castle was happy to live a more stable life, with a roof above his head every night and someone respecting him close by. Things between Beckett and him were just perfect, better than things had ever been with Meredith. They had even traveled to Tretegor so Kate could meet Alexis, and the two women, despite being so close in age, seemed to get along quite well too.

Things were idyllic for a couple of months, until something strange happened. An outbreak of the Caitriona Plague burst in the poorest quarters of town and in some of the nearby villages, so to contain infection the authorities sealed off Vizima. No one entered and no one got out.

Only for news of an infestation of barghests, demon hounds, came to Castle's ears and yet he was forbidden to go out and take care of that. Despite his immunity against every kind of infectious disease, the guards forbid him to go out.

But it was about a week later that things started going completely bonkers. First, a cockatrice, a foul creature that looked half like a bird of prey and half like a reptile, had taken residence in the sewers and sometimes hopped upstairs and ate an unfortunate soul that happened to pass that way. Knowing that cockatrices were nightly creatures, Castle had already an agreement with the city guards to go down the sewers on daytime and take care of it while the beast would be sleeping, making it way easier to deal with it.

The convened morning, Castle went to the entrance of the sewers at first light of dawn, only to be told that another Witcher had wiggled his way out of prison by bargaining the killing of said cockatrice with his release.

"I can't believe there's another Witcher in town!" screamed Castle as he stomped all the way up to their bedroom. He had left early and let Kate sleep, but had come back not an hour after his departure, so she was still in bed.

"What's going on?" she asked, opening an eye just enough to let him know she was awake.

"The cockatrice… another Witcher killed it, last night! Apparently they caught him trying to sneak in town and imprisoned him. He told the guards that he'd kill the blasted monster if they let him go and he did it!"

He let his harness fall on the floor with a bang, then ran his hand through his hair. "I swear that if it's one of the School Of The Cat I'm going to kill him as soon as I identify him."

"What has the School Of The Cat done to you?"

"The school? Absolutely nothing." He approached the dresser and poured some water in a bowl from a pitcher nearby. It warmed up instantly, thank to an enchantment Kate had performed on it. "The problem is that their methods tend to spew out Witchers with psychopathic and homicidal tendencies. And this city has seen enough homicidal psychopaths for a hundred years at least."

He then proceeded to shave. He had just lathered his face with shaving soap and was about to start when he suddenly burst again. "No really, I'm not joking… if there's another Witcher in town I want to meet him," he said, brandishing the razor like a sword.

"Could he be one of your friends?"

He shrugged. "Don't know. Maybe… it's me, Vesemir, Leo, Lambert and Eskel from my School, I have no idea from the others. I don't actually know many Witchers, we're…" he swiped the blade on his skin and took away some of the lather and the coarse hair of his beard. "We're few and sparse around the world. We don't meet often, and I'm not one to make it through winter back at Kaer Morhen. I actually haven't been there since…"

"Since Geralt died?" she asked.

He looked down, at the pool of steaming, white-ish water in the bowl in front of him. "Yes, since Geralt died."

"I'll ask around, I might be able to find something else about this Witcher. But tell me, since you don't have to get all dirty and stinky down in the sewers this morning, do you mind coming with me to Carmen's place so I can check out the girls?"

Laughing, he turned to her, only to laugh more when he saw she was dressed in one of his oldest, most tattered shirts and wrapped in the bedsheet, propped up on her elbows and showing off those legs that made him go crazy every time. "You're weird, you know that? You're the only woman who would ask her man to come with her to a brothel. Do you have any idea of what happens when a man in possession of a very large sausage enters in a brothel?"

Much to his glee, Kate started laughing uncontrollably, rolling on the bed holding her belly because she was laughing so hard it hurt. "Gods, it's so funny because it's so true…" she managed to cackle out when she regained some control.

By that time, he had finished and his face was now perfectly smooth. He approached the bed and lay beside her. "When do you have to be there?"

"After lunch. We have time, if you want to write some more."

"Actually…" He slid his arm beneath her and pulled her to him. "Actually I'd like to spend some time with my girlfriend, this morning."

She kissed the tip of his nose. "Really? Even after last night?"

He nodded, vehemently. "Yes, even after last night. You know, I don't get tired easily, perks of being a mutant."

"I became intimately acquainted with your mutations in the past two months, babe, don't worry."

He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "You know I love it when you call me babe?"

She smiled. "I do. And you know I love you even when I don't call you babe?"

"I'll never tire of hear you saying that."

Later that day, as Beckett was checking on Carmen girls and curing the various ailments that afflicted them, Castle killed time on his notebook, writing the last few chapters of his new book, Heat Wave, set in Novigrad, sealed off during a heat wave - hence the title, that made a great pun with the new protagonist's name - and of a city guard doing her best to find the killer of a rich merchant fallen in disgrace. With her, a ruggedly handsome Witcher to help her fend off more supernatural kind of enemies. It was the easiest book he had ever wrote. Gina would be very pleased when he'd be presenting it to her.

But after two hours, he ran out of ink and most of his hand was cramping a little bit, so he decided to leave his spot in the corner of the foyer and take a quick stroll outside. Maybe sneak inside the Hairy Bear and buy a drink. They had come to terms with the owner, and he was now welcome again in the tavern. Only, he didn't have the permission to sleep there. Not that he needed it, since he finally had a place to call home.

He had just stepped outside, when he felt something in the air. A familiar presence, something he hadn't perceived in years. He turned around, confused, looking for clues. His medallion started vibrating against his skin and he noticed a silhouette he knew very well, just outside the inn.

"Geralt?" he whispered.

He felt his heart clench in a steely grip at the thought. Could his brother still be alive after Rivia?

No, it wasn't possible. Absolutely out of question, Geralt had died five years ago, right in front of his eyes. It wasn't really possible. But then the man turned around and…

It was Geralt.

From the long straight white hair he kept tied in a loose ponytail to the steel, unreadable eyes that shone in the bright afternoon sunlight. He was speaking with Zoltan Chivay, one of their oldest friends. The stubby dwarf seemed just as shocked to see the Witcher, alive and kicking.

But before approaching the man that incredibly looked like his dead brother, he rushed in the brothel. Kate was visiting a girl who looked in the early stages of anemia. "Kate, do you mind coming outside for a moment?"

The sorceress followed him without a word, and stopped in her tracks the moment he showed her the Geralt lookalike, eyes wide open in pure disbelief. "No way."

"So I'm not going insane. That man looks like Geralt."

She shook her head. "No Rick, that man _is_ Geralt."

"But it's not possible, I saw him dying in front of my eyes. He can't be!"

But then Kate grabbed his hand and rushed towards that man. Zoltan had entered the inn, while the man lollygagged outside, as if waiting for someone.

"Geralt?" called Kate.

Both she and Castle shared a sharp intake of breath when the man, _Geralt_ , turned to face them. He gave them a double take before he spoke. "Do I know you?" he asked.

Castle gasped. "Geralt, what the hell? I'm Rick, your brother! And you worked with Kate for a while in the past!"

"I'm sorry…" he said, his voice faltering a bit. "But I can't remember you both. You see, a month ago I appeared out of nowhere just outside Kaer Morhen and… I don't remember anything except my name and how to fight."

Castle looked down at Kate. She promptly waved her hand around his head and muttered a few arcane words. "Oh yes, he doesn't remember anything except what happened in the past month! Geralt, do you know what…"

He gave them a nod. "I've been told that I supposedly died during a pogrom in Rivia, yes. Triss told me, but… I'm sorry, I can't remember anything."

Castle felt like a deflated bagpipe. So it was Geralt, but with amnesia. And Kate had just confirmed it. And yet… something told him there was something more, or some kind of trick that someone was pulling on the world. Or both, perhaps.

"You said Triss told you? So you saw her?" asked Kate.

"Yes. She was at Kaer Morhen when I…"

"When you reappeared, I get it. Did she do anything for your amnesia?"

He shook his head. "No she… she told me my mind was still too worn out by whatever ordeal I went through. And then someone attacked the fortress and…"

Castle jolted up as if electrocuted. "What do you mean someone attacked the fortress?"

* * *

Geralt, or the man passing for Geralt as Castle seemed inclined to think from time to time, told them the story that night at dinner. How someone, leading a cult-like organization named Salamandra sieged Kaer Morhen, killed Leo and stole most of the mutagens kept in their lab. About a week after he had been rescued from the forests around it. The remaining Witchers had spread through the continents to follow the trails, and he had just arrived in Vizima to investigate. Dealing with the cockatrice was his bargain chip to get out of prison, when someone outside tricked him to pay a hefty bribe to get inside the city walls.

"So let me get this straight… You don't remember absolutely squat about me?" asked Castle when he was done speaking.

"I don't remember squat about myself too, except for what Triss and the others told me," he paused, rubbing his beard. "Which isn't much."

Kate took a long moment to inspect him then. He looked different from what she remembered, in the light of the candles and the fireplace. Older, yes, but she hadn't seen the man in ten years, but ten years for a Witcher are nothing. He looked misplaced. And if had indeed lost his memories, he had all the right to feel so.

"So you don't remember Yennefer?" asked Castle. "And Ciri too?"

The man in front of them startled in his seat, then looked around, disoriented. "Ciri? Wait a minute, I know Ciri, she's my…"

"She's your daughter. You adopted her after her kingdom crumbled during the Nilfgaardian war," explained Kate.

"Yes… We… we trained her at Kaer Morhen… she's… I invoked the Law Of Surprise on her as payment for lifting a curse over her father and…"

"And she's a Source," continued the sorceress. "A powerful one, that Yennefer took under tutelage to teach her how to control her immense power."

"Do you know where she is? Is she alright?" he asked, suddenly frantic in his need to see his adoptive daughter, to know that she was safe.

"No idea. She disappeared, sometime before you and Yennefer…" answered Castle.

Geralt, at this point both her and Castle were sure the man in front of them was indeed his older step brother, sagged in his chair and let out a long, desperate breath. "Why can't I remember anything? I… I see flashes here and there, people's faces that don't have a name in my head but… I don't remember you two. And you tell me you're my brother?"

"Younger step brother actually. We only share our father as common parent, but he's never been in the picture. We grew up in Kaer Morhen, destined to be Witchers. We were both surprise children, your mother was a druidess and like sorceresses, they are sterile most of the time, except she clearly wasn't. My mother… well, that's another matter, but let's just say she wasn't expecting to shack up with our dad and settled down."

Geralt groaned. "Sounds like the typical situation for Witchers… Unwanted boys. We're not exactly a caste that sees tons and tons of volunteers."

It was Kate's turn to speak. "And yet you remember that. And you had a flash of Ciri the moment we spoke of her. Maybe there's a chance you can regain your memory sooner or later, even sooner if we use magical aid."

"Triss said the same, but she thinks that whatever caused the memory loss was an event of devastating magnitude for my mind. And if people tampered with it, I could lose my memories forever."

Castle must have had an idea right in that moment. He jumped up from the couch and ran upstairs, only to come down a minute later with one of his swords, which he promptly handed to him. "Let's see if this jogs your memory, the natural way."

Geralt took the weapon in his hands and examinated it, but the moment he wrapped his palm round the handle, he jolted again, like when they had mentioned Ciri.

"This… this is my sword!" he exclaimed. "My silver sword, the blade for monsters!"

Castle nodded. "Yes, it's yours. It was the only thing we managed to salvage after the pogrom. The only thing that remained of you and Yennefer. Everything else just disappeared, along with your bodies. I've been using it, in your memory, but it belongs to you."

Geralt examined the blade in his hands for a long while, but then gave it back to Castle. "I… I can't take it back Ricky. It's yours now, I'll have a new sword crafted as soon as I have the money and…"

"I can afford a new sword. The one they gave you sucks ass, take this. It's yours, you had it custom built by a master blacksmith and..." Then he looked at Geralt, eyes reduced to tiny slits. "Wait, you called me Ricky!"

"I've always called you Ricky, ever since we were…"

They could see the memories flood back to him painted on Geralt's face, when the little color he bore on his face suddenly disappeared and he turned white as a wraith.

"Ever since we were kids," Castle completed the sentence for him.

Realization struck both of them like a punch in the face, Kate could read it in their eyes. The wall of ice between them suddenly melted when Geralt had another flash and suddenly dropped the sword to hug Castle.

"You don't look a day older, Ricky…"

"You look good too, Geralt. Sit down, come on, we have a lot to discuss."

That lot to discuss turned out to be a plan to find the bastards that had stolen the mutagens from the fortress and, if possible, find out what they needed it for. Outside Vizima, Geralt had found proof that Salamandra was present in the area in some sort of way, and had done all he could to get inside the city in order to keep investigating.

"I guess we'll have to work together for this one," said Geralt. "I'm not sure I can deal with such a big thing in these conditions. I feel crippled, like someone had cut one of my legs."

"You have lost all your knowledge on monsters too?" asked Kate.

"Yes and… oh now I remember you! I tried to seduce you a couple of times in the past!" he recalled, with a wide smile on his face.

"Get your filthy paws off her, pervert! You already have your sorceress!" replied Castle, jovially.

That shadow that had always clouded his bright eyes was gone, Kate could see it now. That desperation she always saw when he opened up to her, came from the grief of having lost his brother, and now that he had found him again, despite the weird circumstances, had lifted that sort of curse from him.

"I would never hit on her again in all my life. She nearly burned my pants once, you know that?"

"Yeah, she told me. Now, back at the plan, how do we proceed?"

"The swamp. It's the perfect hideout. We go down there and see what we find. Then there's a private investigator in town, I was directed to ask him for help, in case we need it."

"There's the city guard too. I'm not in it anymore, but I still have friends in there," said Kate.

"Great," stated Castle then. "First things first though, I need a new sword and…"

"No, I need a new sword. That one, doesn't feel like mine anymore. Something changed, it's yours now, you carried it for more than I ever did and it's yours now. I'll find a blacksmith and have a new one crafted. Until then, I've been given this, the guards told me it belonged to another Witcher that passed through here some months ago. It will do, until I get one that I like."

"So? We're back on the Path? Together?"

Geralt nodded. "Hell yeah we're back on the Path! You two jogged my memory more in six hours than anyone else in the past month. If I want to find Ciri, I'm going to need your help."

"Then let's make a pact. We go look for this Salamandra thing and shut it down for good. Then we're going after Ciri. Deal?" Castle extended his hand to his brother, who promptly took it and shook it.

"Deal. Damn, The Dragon And The Wolf back on the Path. Dandelion will have a stroke when he hears the news. Speaking of daughters though, how's Alexis?"

Kate saw the happiness sparkle on Castle's face when Geralt remembered about his own adoptive daughter and couldn't help but smile herself.

In the end, what started out as a terrifying trip into the madness of one single man who have turned his life into a crusade against all he considered a heathen menace to the Eternal Fire, turned out great for every party involved. She had found closure to her mother's murder, she had found a man that loved her and she loved in return, and Castle, even though the stress and the wounds and the pain threatened to kill him, found his long lost brother and partner in crimes.

Despite everything, they had both found their happy ending. Time to help Geralt find his own.

* * *

 _So, this adventure comes to an end that I hope gives some closure (and possibly some room to manouver a sequel sometime down the road) to the characters and the story. A story I started weaving a little shy of a year ago, mere days before the release of that 200+ hours game that is The Witcher III Wild Hunt and decided to turn the late night musings of a gamer into something real, though written in haste to make it before the deadline. As I clocked in hours in the third game and read through the books I could find translated in English, more details came out, the story changed and evolved. I hope you liked reading it as much as I loved writing it. The source material is just too awesome._

 _Now, I'm still tinkering with the idea of going full postal and write another ficathon entry for this year, again based on a videogame, but more of a spy story this time. I just have to decide if messing up with Hideo Kojima's dystopic vision of a world ruled by the war economy could fit Castle or not. My boyfriend thinks it does, most of all with how I would twist and turn the characters, but you know... Metal Gear Solid is a tough cookie to bite, don't know how many of you would be interested in it._


End file.
